


Follow the Leader

by bigmamag



Series: Refractions [4]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: Kolinahr, M/M, Pen Pals, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-29
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigmamag/pseuds/bigmamag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of <i>Refractions</i>, life is forever changed for one of the universes. Director Spock returns to Vulcan, but finds that his ordered and predictable life is no longer satisfactory. Captain Kirk is faced with the harsh realities of a potential Romulan war and the loneliness of command.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, this fic will make little sense if you haven't read [Refractions](http://archiveofourown.org/works/33631) because it's set in an alternate universe after the events of the story. That said, this has been in hiatus for a long time, but I'm bringing it to AO3 with intent to finish.

_Now you can follow your gut_  
 _Or you can follow the past_  
 _But if you knew an eclipse was coming_  
 _Why’d you even ask?_  
  
"[Follow the Leader](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwMmOw8c8Bk)" by Matthew Ryan  
  
  
  
  
Jim watched as their hastily-made explosive was launched into the core of the star burning on the time planet's surface. The Jim Kirk from an alternate universe was at the monitor that held the last image of his first officer and friend. Both of that Kirk's hands were on the screen as if he could reach out and touch his Spock across the distance between them. Jim stood back with the others as they quietly watched the scene unfold before them. Jim would not be able recall how the others were reacting because he was too busy staring at the monitor, transfixed at the heartbreaking scene before him. Kirk was no longer screaming as he’d been moments before, but his eyes were desperately following any movement on the screen. His Spock's skin was mottled green, an indication that he was slowly dying from radiation poisoning.  
  
There was no huge spectacle or fanfare like Jim would expect to occur when three universes are pulled back into their respective places. Instead, groups of people, ships docked in the hangar, emergency medical fixtures, and design schemes simply faded away as if they had never been there to begin with, the monitor now displaying empty space and a now-rapidly diminishing star. The last thing Kirk saw disappear was Captain Spock, the strange, emotional Vulcan from that third universe with his harsh features and long hair, face openly expressing deep sorrow.  
  
The sudden silence was jarring. Jim looked around to see that most of the inhabitants of shuttlebay had been from the other two universes. There were only a handful of officers left that had been witness to what had just occurred. Director Spock stared stonily at the screen. His gaze moved over to Jim, indecipherable. Somehow it was this look that gave Jim the impetus to move and perform his duties. He moved to the now-empty monitor, hesitating slightly before opening a frequency to the ship, oddly spooked over using it again.  
  
"This is the captain speaking. The crisis has been averted. Through the efforts of a brave Starfleet officer from one of the dual alternate dimensions we have encountered today, we have all been saved. We are now on yellow alert until further notice. I want all yeomen to perform the necessary head count of the wounded and deceased for the ship's log. All available senior officers are to meet with me on the bridge. You have all performed admirably under extraordinary conditions. Kirk out."  
  
Jim ended the transmission and let himself slump in fatigue. It was still silent in the near-empty shuttlebay, a mourning atmosphere. Several of his crewmen were dead; he would have to notify their families, give commendations, get his ship back into working order and do it all with a command presence and confidence he currently didn't feel. He felt someone approach him, and he turned to see the director.  
  
"He was an exemplary officer," Spock said.  
  
"It was...logical of him, I know. He did his heritage proud," Jim said.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But I still grieve for him."  
  
Spock had no response. They stood that way for a moment before Lieutenant Commander Marple approached them, one hand on his phaser.  
  
"Sir, your orders?" he asked gently, and Jim suddenly remembered that Spock was still a prisoner of the Federation. It was extremely unfair after all they’d been through. He scowled slightly before reluctantly composing himself.  
  
"You will escort the director to the brig."  
  
Two security guards appeared and fenced in Spock. It felt horribly wrong, and Jim was struck by the urge to screw protocol and tell the guards to fuck off. It was unlike him, and he didn't quite know where this strong desire came from.  
  
"I'll talk with Starfleet and tell them what you accomplished here today."  
  
Spock looked steadily at Jim and, once again, Jim was put at ease. "Until then, I shall submit to your authority."  
  
The guards walked away, Spock sandwiched between them. Jim left for the bridge.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Jim always hated when disasters like these struck. Even though they had come off triumphant, eleven members of his crew were dead, another twenty or more severely injured, but recovering. And then there was the looming political horror of Romulans infiltrating the Vulcan Science Academy and being armed with a weapon that could destroy a planet within minutes. The Federation, he knew, would immediately demand that any red matter still on Vulcan was to be distributed to Earth and other Federation planets, as the Vulcans were universally known as pacifists and were an easy target for destruction. If they were lucky, they were heading toward a galactic cold war. If they weren't, they were heading toward actual war.  
  
Jim ran a hand through his hair. He was alone in the conference room after a briefing with his senior officers, and he was exhausted, having not slept since before the first red alert sounded. Nevertheless, his mind was running impossibly fast, and he had gone without sleep for longer before.  
  
He switched on the terminal in front of him and hailed the bridge.  
  
"Uhura, I have just spoken privately with Starfleet. The Vulcans aboard our ship can leave the brig and set up in our guest quarters under heavy security. I would like to speak with Director Spock in the arboretum, if he is amenable and only if he is amenable."  
  
Moments later Uhura confirmed Spock’s acquiescence to a visit. Jim left the conference room to meet with him, wincing at damaged walls and broken circuits as he went. It was inevitable that his ship would undergo repairs as soon as they arrived on Earth. It was also inevitable that Uhura would smuggle him off the ship herself if he did not take shore leave there instead of overseeing the repairs. Jim had no plans for his shore leave, aside from some vague idea of visiting his mother and stepfather, at least for one day of the leave.  
  
When Jim entered the arboretum, he remembered why he rarely came here. It was like coming home after being gone for months, but then discovering that someone had changed the lock codes, leaving you to look longingly through the windows at the warmth within. The smell of grass and flowers overpowered his senses, and the rush of water in the large rock fountain sang in his blood. Jim loved being outdoors, and the artificial garden made his chest ache with want. Coming here made him want to forget his duties and daydream of blue skies and open fields. There would be time enough for that in a week.  
  
Jim spotted Spock by a large rosebush. He grinned when he saw that Spock was touching one of the roses, examining each petal, his eyebrows drawn together in thought. Ever the scientist, that one. Spock no longer wore the borrowed Starfleet uniform, most likely because he was no longer actively working on the ship. Instead, he wore a gray sweater that looked like his mom might have knitted it and gray pants. Jim didn't know how he managed to look regal in it, but then again Spock could probably look regal in a potato sack; some people just had that talent. Spock heard him approach and let the rose spring back, straightening as if he were standing at attention.  
  
"Captain." Spock greeted, his hand going up in a V-shape. Knowing that he sucked at the traditional Vulcan greeting, Jim instead gave a lame half-wave.  
  
"Director. Thank you for meeting with me."  
  
"There was no inconvenience. After all, it is because of you that my team and I are no longer confined to the brig."  
  
Jim waved his gratitude away. "You don't deserve to be in there and you certainly don't deserve a trial either."  
  
"It is not a matter of deserving or not deserving. The Federation must be sure that justice is carried out and all guilty parties prosecuted."  
  
"Still, it's a crap way to treat a guy who helped save all of our lives. I will, of course, be testifying at the trial."  
  
"I surmised that you would be. Was this what you wished to discuss?"  
  
"No. Walk with me?" he asked, already beginning to move. Spock matched his step, and they began to follow the winding path of the garden. "I actually wanted to talk about everything that happened. You know, the other universes and all that."  
  
No emotion crossed over Spock's face, but Jim had a feeling that Spock was reluctant to discuss it. He didn't blame him; there was no easy way to talk about what crazy things your alternate self did or didn't do.  
  
"What aspect do you wish to discuss?"  
  
"I'm still sort of...freaked out about meeting myself in other universes."  
  
Spock nodded slightly. "Quite understandable. The disorientation that has resulted from that event is still prevalent in my mind as well."  
  
So Spock was freaked out too. Jim felt a tension he was unaware of leave his shoulders, and he began to let himself feel tired.  
  
"I know it sounds stupid, but I can't help but compare myself to them. Our lives are so utterly different that there should be no comparison, but it's there, nonetheless."  
  
"I too have had similar thoughts. There is little resemblance between myself and my highly emotional counterpart from the universe in which Earth and Vulcan were destroyed. His mannerisms are almost completely Human and are therefore alien to me. However," here Spock hesitated, his pace slowing just a little. "There was the counterpart from Starfleet. He had lived among humans for years and openly considered his captain friend, yet he maintained his emotions, performed the logical action. I have never known friendship, nor do I have the capacity to understand its purpose. However, it is the first time I have considered that it does not have to be a weakness."  
  
Jim looked at him softly. "You don't have to be a Vulcan for that to be a revelation. I can't imagine being so close to someone that I'd react to their death as if my world were ending. I mean, I've lost a lot of crewmen, many friends, but I don't get close to anyone. My stepfather said that command is a great but lonely place, and I think he was right. I graduated from the Academy so young, spent all my time reaching these goals, trying to make a name for myself that wasn't 'son of George Kirk'. Now I've got all these medals and honors, and I'm the youngest captain in Starfleet's history. I've got the respect of officers triple my age. They tell me that in a few years I can become an admiral. Maybe then I'll find time to get some good drinking buddies or a family or something. But friendship like that? I can't imagine."  
  
Spock fell silent, and Jim did as well, fearing that he had probably spilled too much. This is why he hated talking about these sorts of things, but it was kind of also why he needed it. He couldn't just sit down with someone from his own crew and talk about feelings—he was their superior officer and it just wouldn't do. But he felt safe speaking like this to Spock, and wasn't that mighty illogical, talking about emotions to a being practically free of them. It was likely that Jim was being this way because as soon as the trial ended, he'd probably never see Spock again, as they led very different lives. The thought saddened him.  
  
"You have little need to compare yourself to your counterparts," said Spock. "You are quite different than them."  
  
Jim snorted. "Well, at least I don't feel the constant need to kill things. And speaking of that particular you and me—they were dating, weren't they?"  
  
"They were in an exclusive relationship of a kind, yes," Spock said. Jim looked over at him, detecting a strange tone. Did he know something Jim didn't?  
  
"That hand thing," Jim pressed, eyes locked on Spock's face for any reaction. Spock didn't give him the satisfaction.  
  
"It is common for Vulcan couples to publicly acknowledge their relationship by the joining of two fingers. It is the limit of public acknowledgment of romantic affection in Vulcan culture, as anything more is considered quite lewd."  
  
"Not like they'd care anyway, but then it wasn't really practical to make out everywhere during a crisis," he joked, feeling it crash and burn.  
  
"Indeed.”  
  
They walked in silence for a bit more, having made one complete circuit of the garden.  
  
"Well, whatever the case and despite certain oddities, I find that you're a man of integrity in all universes, Mr. Spock."  
  
Spock looked over at Kirk, and nodded. "I find the same to be true for you as well, Captain."  
  
  
****  
One month later - The Vulcan Science Academy  
****  
  
  
"The results for all independent research will be due by the end of this quarter. A computation set was messaged to all students this morning and it is to be completed by the next class meeting. End of session."  
  
The students rose from their seats almost as one and filed out of the classroom. Spock busied himself with powering down the holoprojectors, then sat at his desk and checked the messages on his PADD. All of his students had turned in their daily computation sets from yesterday, and almost all had turned in their independent research projects that were due in two months. Before, Spock would have simply filed away the information and would begin work on supplemental material to keep his class engaged. Now, Spock found himself feeling yet another new emotion he could not name.  
  
Spock and his team had been cleared of all charges put forth by Starfleet, the Federation, and the Vulcan Science Academy three weeks after the Enterprise arrived back on Earth. Spock had only been there for three days of court hearings before he had to depart for further trials on Vulcan. His last view of Earth had been of Captain Kirk, dressed in his black command uniform, staring inscrutably up at the shuttle Spock was occupying. The captain had given an almost impassioned defense of Spock and his team during the hearings. Even more, he had given Spock his personal subspace transmission code, offering to keep up a correspondence.  
  
Kirk had sent his first message 2.8 weeks ago. Commander Stiles, Kirk’s rather close-minded first officer, had requested a transfer, and Kirk told Spock how Stiles now felt ashamed of his behavior, being that it was Spock’s counterpart, a Vulcan, who had voluntarily given up his life for the safety of the lives of hundreds of beings. Kirk remarked in his message, “I guess it’s hard to hate someone who has saved your life.”  
  
Unfortunately, Spock did not know how to respond to the message Kirk sent. He supposed that he could simply send the message, “I have received your communication,” but his mother, upon being asked by Spock for advice on the matter, told Spock that Humans send these missives as a means to create conversation and a mutual dialogue. Spock felt illogically disappointed in himself for not responding at all, unable to give the original succinct reply or create a dialogue without a guide or prompts.  
  
A half hour passed as Spock ruminated on these events. Realizing that he had done nothing even remotely productive and that this sort of thinking was more suited to meditation, Spock attempted to think of an occupation, but found that, though he had other things he could do, he wished to do none of those things.  
  
"You appear bored, Spock," a voice said from the door of the classroom, interrupting Spock's musings. Spock realized that he had been tapping his fingers on the desk. He immediately stilled his hand and straightened in his seat. He looked to the entrance of the classroom and saw a tall figure wearing a dusty traveling cloak.  
  
"May I be of assistance?" Spock asked, glossing over the stranger's observation. The man walked further into the room and lowered his hood. It was an elder Vulcan, and even though Spock was certain that they had never met, he seemed familiar.  
  
"Actually, Spock, I was hoping to be of assistance to you. We have much to discuss." The man seemed to be waiting for Spock to do something. It was quite odd.  
  
"Pardon me, but how are we acquainted?" Spock asked.  
  
"The answer to that question varies, depending on one's philosophical and scientific beliefs. If you would accompany me to a more private venue, I may be able to enlighten you."  
  
Spock hesitated briefly. A stranger wished to speak with him in private and refused to divulge details regarding his rationale for such a meeting. It was generally accepted that Vulcans were pacifists and that Vulcans cannot tell a lie. However, if there was anything he took from that mission on the Enterprise, it was the knowledge that appearances could be deceiving and Vulcans did not operate on the same level.  
  
"You have my curiosity. However, I see no reason why we cannot discuss whatever we wish right here. The door, after all, closes shut."  
  
Spock stared incredulously as his statement drew a slight smile from the elder Vulcan.  
  
"I am quite aware of the function of a door. As sure as you are, in fact, because I am you."  
  
It cannot be. But even as the doubt surfaced, he catalogued the stranger's features and compared them with his own. There was a 91.56% chance that this man was telling the truth.  
  
"If you are who you say you are, then you know what questions I have."  
  
"A shrewd response. I am you, Spock, from an alternate dimension. Specifically, I am part of the reason why Nero wreaked havoc on so many lives."  
  
Spock's eyes widened. "Perhaps a more private venue is necessary after all. Where do you suggest we convene?"  
  
  
*  
  
  
Spock had not anticipated that the elder Spock would wish to travel far for this conversation. His assumption was proven misguided when he was led to a waiting land vehicle the Vulcan either owned or rented for this purpose. They traveled out of Shi’Kar, and Spock instantly knew where they were going; Vulcan’s Forge. It took fifteen minutes to reach their destination. They had to leave their vehicle 1.3 miles from the edge of the Forge, as the hazardous terrain had to be traveled on foot. As they walked, his counterpart related the fantastical events that led to his arrival in this dimension.  
  
"When Vulcan was not immediately destroyed, I traveled to a Starfleet outpost on Delta Vega to warn them in case Nero was merely delaying the inevitable. I encountered Montgomery Scott and learned that Nero had been defeated. I was quite relieved at this turn of events and endlessly pleased to have an old friend, who had been deceased for years in my reality, relay the story in his customary boisterous manner."  
  
Spock recalled the chief engineer aboard the Enterprise who had referred to him as the less-friendly Spock as they worked to construct the explosive that saved the ship. He wondered why the man had been in exile, as he was a brilliant engineer. His counterpart continued.  
  
"I journeyed to Vulcan and found employment in a library in Raal. I call myself Selek."  
  
"How did you manage not to evoke curiosity?"  
  
"They were impressed with my intricate knowledge of the ancients texts of Surak, as I had studied intensely for two years with the masters of Gol. It was a simple matter to let them believe that I had spent most of my life in a far-off Vulcan colony."  
  
Spock was shocked. "You say you studied with the masters of Gol, yet you have demonstrated a broad spectrum of emotions while in my presence."  
  
"I studied with them—I never said I completed my training. There were…complications. That I was grateful for."  
  
Spock lowered his eyes, taking in all the information he had received. There was no doubt that this man was who he claimed to be. Yet his existence was somehow even more disquieting than the other universes had been. The two alternate realities he had previously encountered all shared the same basic event; Nero destroying the Kelvin, then years later attempting to destroy the Federation, to varying degrees of success. This Spock was from a reality that shared little commonalities with any of the previously known universes.  
  
At last they arrived at the mouth of the Forge. Across the barren wasteland in the far distance was Mount Seleya. They both went silent in reverence. This was the heart of Vulcan. His ancestors had passed through this forge for thousands of years. Inside that sacred mountain were thousands of katric arks, even the ark of Surak himself. Spock had prepared for years to undergo the kolinahr discipline, was destined to receive the emblem of total logic at that very mount. His mind should be at ease, should reach out to that edifice and wish to take his place amongst the ancients. Yet instead his thoughts spun in many directions.  
Spock called forth the memory of that other Spock giving his Kirk his katra, making a human a living ark. In the few moments it had taken for the katric transfer to complete, that Spock’s telepathy had opened to those around him, and for a moment Spock had felt everything his counterpart felt. The emotions had consumed and shaken him to his core. Pain. Trust. Regret. Joy. Then there was one that outshone all others, one that had crippled Spock’s attempts at shielding, simply because he had felt it himself long ago when he was young and the strictures of self control had not been upon him. It was a half-remembered feeling, almost forgotten, and he’d tried to reach for it, tried to take it in again before the connection was gone.  
  
“You must forgive me,” the elder Spock said from several feet away. Spock, startled, looked over to see that the man had moved while Spock had been lost in thought. He was now seated on a length of rock. “My legs are not as spry as they once were. You may continue.”  
  
Spock collected himself with haste, shoving aside any disappointment he felt with himself as he floundered for a query.  
  
"Why have you waited so long to seek me out? It has been well over a year since you arrived in this reality."  
  
"Before, I had no logical reason to contact you or anyone else I knew from my own reality. Until very recently, when I learned that your science team was selected to serve aboard the Enterprise. I then heard rumors of the events of the mission, and I wished to speak with you about your experiences. I felt that, since you have knowledge of the existence of multiple universes, adding another one to your consciousness wouldn't cause you undue anxiety."  
  
"You said upon our meeting that we could benefit from speaking of the events on the Enterprise mission."  
  
The elder Spock looked steadily at him, then patted an empty space of rock next to him. Spock walked over and seated himself in the space.  
  
"I also told you was that I may be of assistance. Speaking of recent events can bring mutual knowledge, a sharing of wisdom. More specifically, I am an old man. It is a symptom of age that memories and, by association, nostalgia, dictate one's everyday actions, whether those actions are an effort to relive those memories or somehow watch others relive them for oneself. In short, I find that I am prone to intense meddling."  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Meddling?"  
  
"You have met Captain James T. Kirk, have you not?"  
  
"I have. Is he the subject of your intended meddling?"  
  
Spock could not distinguish the emotions on his counterpart's face. His mouth was curved like he was smiling, yet his face was downcast and his eyes sad. "He is the subject of many a memory this old man would gladly relive again."  
  
"You were close," Spock surmised.  
  
"I was closer to my captain that anyone else in the universe. I knew his thoughts, his dreams, his hopes—his fears. I chose not to reveal my identity to you until now because I previously thought you were out of reach. You had your life here and it seemed that there was no possibility of any of that changing. Also, I had already altered your life beyond repair; it did not feel right to further change the course of history. However, upon learning that you had met Jim Kirk, it seemed too serendipitous to resist.”  
  
"You are aware that the event log of that mission is under heavy security by Starfleet and the Federation. To access that information would require extensive hacking."  
  
His counterpart waved his disapproval aside. "Your current technology is quite antiquated to me."  
  
"This does not negate the fact that what you did was ethically questionable if not outright reprehensible."  
  
He simply looked at Spock with a charmed smile. "You remind me of myself before joining Starfleet. Only, I don't believe I was so dull in my prickliness."  
  
Spock's lips thinned in annoyance. "Have you come here simply to cast dispersions on my character?"  
  
"I have not. I am here to offer advice, however illogical it may be. Spock, put aside logic. Do what feels right.”  
  
Spock was rendered speechless. How deviated this reality was from his own. Put aside logic! He may as well spit on the face of Mount Seleya.  
  
“You ask me to abandon logic, to follow emotions? That is impossible and not in my nature.”  
  
“You misunderstand. I am not telling you to abandon logic, nor am I telling you to ignore your feelings. Instead, I urge you to be the best of both worlds, to know that you are both Vulcan and Human. Spock, the pursuit of logic is only the beginning of wisdom, it is not the end of it. It took years for this simple truth to occur to me. I ask you to put aside logic because it is keeping you from discovering all that you can accomplish.”  
  
The words only gave Spock a modicum of comfort. He did not believe in what this Spock had to say. If he was to achieve this supposed “wisdom”, what would it make him? Like this counterpart? Alone in a world not his own?  
  
“You are asking much and offering little motivation.”  
  
“I have asked nothing. I have only given you advice. Since I know very well how much you are over-analyzing this advice, I am going to be practical and blunt: start small. Send your captain a greeting.”  
  
“He is not my captain.”  
  
The elder Spock‘s face took on a haunted look before clearing into the blankest expression Spock had seen him produce yet. “Forgive me, I misspoke. Come, let us meditate before the mount.”


	2. Chapter 2

_…I wanted to thank you for those warp core calculations. Scotty was beside himself when he got them and now my girl runs about a thousand times faster. If I ever get any leave time on Vulcan, I’ll buy you a drink. What do Vulcans drink anyway? I assume tea, but I don’t want to stereotype. Yesterday, we…._  
  
  
_…By ‘girl’ I assume you mean the Enterprise, and I further assume you are speaking in hyperbole, as Mr. Scott personally informed me that the ship only performs with a .07% acceleration. However, I acknowledge how crucial the ship’s engines are in times of battle, therefore I accept your gratitude, as unnecessary as it is. As to your query on common Vulcan beverages, I can ascertain that we do imbibe copious amounts of tea. Stereotyping is not always a negative approach to new or uncommon phenomena, as most species learn through generalizations. On a separate matter, I have been perusing your official biography…_  
  
_…play chess? That’s awesome! I’ve got an idea, and you can say no if it’s illogical or something, but how about we keep up a running chess game? Every time we talk we’ll announce a move and we’ll keep the pieces in the same position. I can definitely trust you not to cheat and I assure you that if I were to cheat on anything, it wouldn’t be something as silly as a chess game…_  
  
_…Regarding your last message, I must answer in the affirmative. The rhetoric used by the Romulan ambassador appears to have a tranquilizing affect on the masses. In that instance, she is successful in placating worries while disguising the fact that she has publicly agreed to no change in public policy. It is quite disquieting, and I am not even privy to half of the discussions being held on the matter._  
  
_A recurring chess game between you and I would be agreeable. I am confident that you would not give into the temptation of cheating._  
  
  
  
  
  
Jim slumped into his desk chair, rubbing tired eyes. His new first officer was an _idiot_. Commander Jacobs might be pretty and had likely charmed his way into the command track, but being able to score a date by merely winking at anyone in his vicinity helped very little when dealing with a pissed-off Klingon who took his foolhardy flirtations as the half-hearted diversionary tactic they were. It was almost becoming a running joke to Jim, this cursed first officer position. If only Scotty could clone himself so he could be both chief engineer _and_ first officer. Or Starfleet could let Jim eliminate the position altogether.  
  
He tensed when the door chimed, fervently praying that it was not Commander Jacobs again. The last thing he needed tonight was that man in his bedroom. Jim granted entrance, palpably relieved when Dr. McCoy entered, wielding a bottle of Georgia’s finest bourbon.  
  
“Bless you,” Jim said fervently.  
  
“I got to sit in for the last ten minutes of Kang ranting about dishonor and human scum, so I thought you could use a little snort of the good stuff.”  
  
Jim smiled, relaxing as the doctor took out two small glasses and began pouring.  
  
Ever since the mission in which he had met Spock, McCoy had taken to showing up in Jim’s quarters once or twice a week simply to talk about themselves and their interests. Jim was suspicious of McCoy’s new-found interest in him, mostly because McCoy avoided small talk and spent the visits talking about personal interests and hobbies. Jim figured that McCoy was wary of the captain’s mental health, and with good damn reason. After all, it was a sure thing that McCoy had at least _heard_ of the other Kirks, and one of those Jim Kirks was a proven killer and psychopath. Doubtless the chief medical officer would let a little detail like go unnoticed and was therefore taking the initiative to make sure those tendencies weren’t present in Jim.  
  
Having poured the drinks, McCoy handed one of the glasses to Jim. Their fingers brushed and Jim held back a little shiver at the unexpected contact, downing the drink to hide his awkward reaction. McCoy seated himself on the other side of the desk, thankfully oblivious to all but his own drink. In a ritualistic manner, McCoy adjusted his glasses, raised his drink to his nose, took a long whiff, and, satisfaction pouring off of him, drank deeply.  
  
“Why do you wear glasses?” Jim asked, curiosity getting the better of him.  
  
“I was working in the med lab at the academy at four in the morning with no sleep. A beaker exploded when I forgot to turn the fire off. I went through three surgeries just to restore my eyesight.”  
  
Jim winced. “Let me guess—they weren’t able to restore your vision all the way?”  
  
“Got it in one. If I didn’t wear the glasses, I’d be able to see, but I’d fail every Starfleet vision requirement there is. I know _I_ wouldn’t want a half-blind doctor poking at my innards.”  
  
Jim’s PADD beeped and Jim glanced at it, frowning when he saw that Jacobs had sent him a message.  
  
He tiredly brandished his glass at McCoy for more. McCoy chuckled, filling the glass again.  
  
“You look like I do whenever the ex-wife calls.”  
  
“At least you’re not in charge of her career.”  
  
“I’d take that over a woman who takes the whole damn planet in a divorce and tries every trick in the book to retain full child custody.”  
  
“Point taken.”  
  
They fell into a companionable silence, and Jim liked that a lot about McCoy.  
  
“I have to fess up; there’s an ulterior motive behind my visit.”  
  
“Oh?” Jim said, about as surprised as he would have been if McCoy had announced that space had stars.  
  
“I’ve been looking at your medical records, and while your physical health is fine, it’s other things I’m worried about. Jim,” McCoy said, shocking Jim at the casual address. “How many friends do you say you have?”  
  
Jim tried not to look pathetic. “I’ve got lots of friends.”  
  
“ _Not_ acquaintances?”  
  
“I bet you’ll be arriving at a point soon,” Jim said, not unkindly.  
  
“I worry about your self-imposed isolation on this ship. I can’t figure out why you’re doing it when most people adore you.”  
  
“Oh, come on,” Jim scoffed, nervously rolling his empty glass in one hand.  
  
“I mean it. This crew would willingly drive this ship into a black hole if you thought it was important, and yet you keep them at arm’s length. Hell, I myself didn’t notice this until about a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been watching you closer than most.”  
  
“That’s a fascinating diagnosis, Doctor,” Jim said, quirking his mouth. “But I’ve got a life outside of the service.”  
  
True, that life was a barren farmhouse handed down from his mother, a box of his father’s keepsakes, and the sporadic visits from a standoffish stepfather, but McCoy didn’t need to know the details.  
  
McCoy relaxed a bit, and Jim fought back the insistent pull in his gut that wanted to shout at him, _I LIED. PLEASE NOTICE ME_. It was annoying, especially when Jim felt equally elated that McCoy didn’t think he was a sad excuse for a human and further hoped that McCoy would leave the room and forget this conversation had ever happened. Jim wondered if everyone in the world was given a manual on how to make friends and he was missing some important clue to understanding the process.  
  
“Your PADD is chirping at you,” McCoy said, pointing at Jim’s elbow. Jim mentally shook himself out of his thoughts, heard the insistent beeping and saw that his message light was indeed blinking. He refreshed the page and saw that Spock had messaged him. Jim smiled, setting the PADD down and feeling a well of anticipation at having something great to look forward to.  
  
“Is there a reason you just lit up like a Christmas tree?” McCoy asked in amusement. Jim tried to school the elation on his face, with little success.  
  
“Oh, it’s just Spock. Director Spock, that is.”  
  
“You still talk with him?” McCoy asked, and Jim didn’t miss the evident surprise in his voice. It immediately put Jim on the defensive.  
  
“Yeah. He helped with the warp calculations a bit back. We talk about current issues and research breakthroughs.”  
  
“Sounds exhilarating,” McCoy deadpanned. Jim fought back a frown.  
  
“He’s pretty interesting, actually.”  
  
“Well, to each his own,” McCoy said doubtfully. “I mean, I can sort of see where the other Spocks were interesting, but the director seems too…Vulcan, if that makes any sense.”  
  
Jim smirked. “Well, he _is_ Vulcan. And anyway, you can have those other guys. This one’s perfect—I mean, he’s fine by me.”  
  
Unfortunately, McCoy wasn’t so oblivious to _that_ slip. McCoy grinned like the cat who got the canary _and_ the cream and gathered up his drinking accouterments.  
  
“Apparently my concerns are unwarranted, Captain. Enjoy your evening and fine Vulcan.”  
  
“You know what I meant!”  
  
“Of course, of course,” McCoy assured, but as he walked out Jim heard him softly hum ‘— _in a tree_ , _K-I-S-S-I-N-G_.’  
  
Jim stared incredulously after McCoy, but couldn’t help a warm feeling overcoming him; it wasn’t often that people teased him good-naturedly. Jim went over to his replicator and ordered up some dinner, deciding to read Jacobs’ message before Spock’s, just so he could end the evening on a high note.  
  
  
_*_  
  
  
Spock turned from the terminal, his full concentration focused on breathing evenly.  
  
In the four months since he resumed teaching, Spock had petitioned three times for a private research sanction on three different experiments he was conducting. Considering his vast expertise on a multitude of subjects and his position as department director, there should have been no barrier in receiving funding and a team for any project he wished to pursue.  
  
Instead, he had been stymied at each turn with the excuse that his input was not required. Frustrated, Spock had requested a video conference with the board of directors and was left reeling from the result.

 _“I request clarification on my rejection from three private research proposals.”_  
  
  _The board members looked at each other silently, their expression never changing but somehow communicating which member should address Spock._  
  
_It was the provost who answered from the head of the table._  
  
_“We have read the mission logs from the USS Enterprise. While the evidence for a multiverse has validated many claims made from your department, we are troubled by the reports of emotionalism demonstrated by your counterparts.”_  
  
_“I do not understand,” Spock said coldly. “Do you mean to infer that I should be judged according to the actions of beings from wholly separate universes?”_  
  
_“We judge you based on the knowledge that you could let your human half impair your ability to function according to the decorum of our institution. While we acknowledge that these were extraordinary circumstances, we do not wish to place you in an environment when your control could be compromised.”_  
  
_“In plainer terms,” Spock said, cold understanding freezing him in place. “You do not trust that I will behave as a Vulcan when conducting my research in the field.”_  
  
_“Precisely. Perhaps when enough time has passed and we have judged your character to be steadfast and certain, we can make an alternate decision.”_

  
Spock supposed that his counterparts were not wholly responsible for this turn of events. Ever since returning from that mission and then meeting the elder Spock, Spock had put off his _kolinahr_ training, deciding that there was always time to resume his plans. Now he realized that this was an egregious error, as he was currently unable to control a rage that was boiling inside of him, a rage that had possibly been brewing since the council first told him that he had done well despite the disadvantage of having a human mother. He had not commented then, having never considered another option outside of the academy. However, it now seemed that his superiors and colleagues still held the same opinion, even when Spock far exceeded their expectations time and time again.  
  
That is, they would continue to hold the same opinion until Spock proved them wrong on this one matter.  
  
Spock powered on the terminal, subconsciously reaching out for guidance. Kirk knew of Spock’s plight, knew about the rejections but not the reason behind those rejections. Spock queued up the messaging program and began typing, sending his shortest missive to Kirk since their very first.  
  
_The board of directors has denied my request for the third time. I pursued the matter and was told in no uncertain terms that they would continue to deny my requests based on the “emotionalism” of my alternate dimensional counterparts._  
  
Spock sent the message and moved over to the small table in his bedroom where his chessboard was constantly set up mid-game. Currently it was Kirk’s move, and Spock silently studied the board for a few minutes, finding that the activity of strategizing future moves calmed him somewhat.  
  
Spock was interrupted when his terminal heralded the arrival of a message. He resumed his seat in front of it and was surprised to see that it was from Kirk.  
  
_Those jerks! How is it LOGICAL to hold you accountable for a “you” from a whole other universe? I mean, if Starfleet felt that way, I’d be court marshaled in seconds based on the craziness I’ve seen._  
  
_Your response was swift and earnest_ , Spock noted, placated by Kirk’s defense. He waited 3.4 minutes for a response.  
  
_It must be bad news week, because a few days ago I got rejected for a five year exploration mission. Turns out Starfleet’s keeping us near home or near the neutral zone, for classified-but-obvious-to-anyone-who-knows-anything-about-politics reasons. I mean it wasn’t unexpected, but I still feel let down. Anyway, I was going to message you in a couple of hours ‘cause I figured you were busy at that time of day, so I‘m glad you did it first. We’re having a stopover for supplies at starbase 12, so we happen to be near a relay station. It’s sort of cool not having to wait hours to hear from you. Knight to D7, by the way._  
  
_Indeed, it is a more proficient method of communication._ After hitting ‘send’, Spock moved Kirk’s knight to the desired square. He had not anticipated that Kirk would made such a reckless move, and he hummed lowly in approval when he realized that Kirk had effectively blocked four maneuvers Spock had been planning. Another message awaited him.  
  
_This kind of reminds me of high school. I had a pen pal from Tellar Prime. Let me tell you, I had never been involved in nastier debates. I think that’s where I learned half my ability to think under fire, all thanks to a prepubescent Tellarite. I bet you’d have been able to handle him even better. They seem to really hate Vulcans. Must be the great poker faces._  
  
_I do no understand what a ‘poker face’ is, but I find your observation to have some merit._ Spock paused, thinking over the information. The conversation reminded him of his father who had certainly dealt with Tellarites and had taken his job so seriously as to marry a human and deem it a logical decision. _Perhaps if I cannot convince the council of my veracity, I can easily find another recourse for occupation. What are your thoughts on ambassadorial work?_  
  
Spock waited impatiently for several minutes. Illogically, he felt as if his entire well-being hinged on Kirk’s answer.  
  
_That would be awesome! You wouldn’t have those old fogies breathing down your neck all the time and you’d be all logical and bad ass. I gotta warn you though—sometimes it’s hard work. I know your dad is an ambassador to Vulcan so you might know some of that, but if you plan on doing any talks with the Romulans, you could be on a starship during a battle or hell, in war time it’s not unheard of to kidnap ambassadors for ransom._  
  
When Spock read this, his heart soared. It should have warned off someone like Spock, who had never traveled farther than a brief visit to Earth, who had had only been in space once, and had, in that one single visit, been thrown into a crisis situation. Instead, Spock could only feel elated at the prospect of having something to _do_. Instantly it shamed him, all these emotions he had never felt, desperately wanting adventure and, most illogical of all, danger. Spock didn’t have a chance to answer because a minute after that message was sent, Kirk sent another.  
  
_Plus, we may be able to see each other once in a while. The Enterprise sometimes ferries ambassadors to conferences and you’d be traveling a lot. I mean, I haven’t formally met your dad but I did see him a few years ago on my first mission under Pike, so I figure we’d have more a chance of seeing each other than we are now because it’s not often we stop off at Vulcan for shore leave._ _And it’s funny because all this talk has made me feel like I’m still writing to a pen pal in class._  
  
Still overcome with shame, Spock almost blindly read through the message and found himself rebelling against the wild ideas springing up between them. The idea of seeing Kirk again had a great appeal, and Spock was mystified at the fact that there was no logical reason to have this desire. His traitorous, emotion-prone mind wanted to meet again with the board of directors and announce his resignation at that very moment. It was foolhardy at best and simply unforgivable all around. His life was satisfactory and safe and he had worked years to reach the position of director. Perhaps it had not been a wise decision to bring his concerns to Kirk.  
  
_I will have to consider my options._  
  
Spock waited for the response, eyes lingering on the chess game, wondering when he had let idle fancy edge so far into his every day life.  
  
_It’s up to you. So, what are you wearing?_  
  
Spock stared at the question, then at his attire, his dark gray teaching robes.  
  
_Why is that imperative?_  
  
_I’m sorry, it was just a stupid joke I knew you wouldn’t get. I keep thinking of high school texting and playing up to my doctor‘s expectations._  
  
Spock raised his eyebrows at the nonsensical discussion. His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching from the other side the house. There was a 53.6% possibility that his mother would knock upon his door.  
  
_My presence may be required soon. I would like to end our conversation here so I may prepare myself._  
  
_That’s cool, I knew you’d probably be busy. I’ll keep my communicator on in case you want to talk again later._  
  
The footsteps faded away, leaving Spock alone in his room in front of a terminal with Kirk’s last message. Eventually he left the soft glow of the monitor and began dissembling the chess board, placing each piece back in their original positions.


	3. Chapter 3

_…the Enterprise is heading out for a mission, so we sort of missed the boat on sort-of instant messaging. I figured you were just busy, so that’s fine and we’ll just pick up where we left off and you can tell me your next chess move…  
  
..Haven’t heard from you in a week or so, just wondering if you’re all right. You can tell me anything, I don’t mind. We can talk about how illogical I am to worry and then go over these new warp calculations. Did I tell you about our improvements to the science labs?…  
  
…It’s nice to know you’re still alive after nearly a month of non-communication. Once again, Scotty thanks you for your input. I’d personally thank you for your help, but I’m not sure you care either way…  
  
…I’m sorry for my last message. I get that you’re Vulcan and you may not understand the finer aspects of human behaviors, but if you want to stop talking, it’s polite to tell the other person and not just ignore them. I feel like I’ve said or done something offensive. I know, human emotions. We’re an illogical lot, putting so much weight on everyday conversation…_  
  
  
Jim had purposefully chosen the darkest, seediest, and, above all, the most out-of-the-way dance club on Alpha V to spend his scant few hours of shore leave in. He wouldn’t have taken shore leave at all if he’d been any rank below captain and thus had to appear to all and sundry that he was a strong leader they could have faith in. Otherwise Jim’s first choice would have been to curl up in a ball in his quarters tonight and wonder what ancient god he had pissed off lately.  
  
Five men dead. Five men, three with families and two newly-recruited. He hadn’t been fast enough, hadn’t been smart enough . Jim was alive, and they were dead, and he wondered what made him so special.  
  
He shouldn’t be here, nursing his third beer and suffering through music that vibrated through his body like a steam-powered train. A haze of smoke hung above the mass of hot, sweaty bodies undulating against each other in filtered blue neon light, and Jim was pretty sure he was getting a contact high. It may have been the hint of mind-altering drugs in the air, but Jim felt more and more at ease the longer he sat there.   
  
Here in this club and in his civvies, he was just Jim Kirk, but what version of Jim Kirk, he didn’t know. _He_ certainly never hung around places like this. It was like he'd been granted a wish, to live someone else’s life until midnight turned him into a pumpkin, and he was soaking up every blissful moment. For just a little while he could pretend that he didn’t have all this responsibility on his shoulders, that lives didn‘t count on his leadership.  
  
Also, he could pretend that he had friends over at the bar or waiting to meet up with him later, and that he was not still broken up about a Vulcan he’d barely seen in person.  
  
Spock had effectively stopped talking to Jim over a month ago. Jim shouldn’t still care about that. Maybe if he hadn’t met three Spocks instead of one, he could have. What did he lack that the other two Kirks possessed that made people stay?   
  
Jim angrily slammed his bottle back on the table and stood up decisively, cutting through the crowd to get to the dance floor. It was sick that he was enjoying working his way through a crowd, hands and arms and torsos pressing in from all sides, like a starving man invited to walk around a banquet table and taste a dish or two, but never allowed to sit and feast. He was so tired that it hurt to walk, muscles screaming for a warm bath and a soft bed, but he felt bold and it was such an odd thing to feel outside of peace conferences or battle that he went with it, watching others dance and trying to copy their movements.  
  
He was unpracticed, but apparently he could summon some sort of rhythm because a girl with dark hair spotted him and moved closer, looping an arm around his neck, inviting him to dance with her. He went with it, moving along with her, trying to focus on her but mind drifting, wondering how drunk she was and if she somehow knew he was a Starfleet captain.  
  
The song morphed into something fast and blitzy, lighting scheme going from blue to a multitude of exploding colors. The girl smiled at him, unfazed by his slight inattention, leaned close and whispered in his ear, “You’re the hottest guy in here. Wanna take this somewhere private?”  
  
Jim shuddered at the warm, moist breath in his ear, actually thinking about the dubious offer. She was obviously drunk or high or both, and it wouldn’t set a good example to the crew if he slept with a nameless woman on shore leave, but he was so damn tired of being alone and the feeling of this much body contact was far more intoxicating than anything you could drink or breathe in.   
  
He felt himself nodding his head, though he was still not completely sure if he was accepting her proposal and the action made his head swim. Her face blurred as she went in for a kiss. Lights exploded around her and the bottom of his stomach dropped out as he kissed back. When he pulled back a little, the room was spinning and black spots were appearing everywhere, and it was a nasty shock when the ground came rushing up at him.   
  
*  
  
   
“Don’t. Move. A. Muscle.”  
  
Jim hoped opening his eyes wasn’t part of that order, as he really wanted to know what was going on. He was curled in the fetal position on a biobed in sickbay, and saw that the owner of that voice was Uhura.  
  
“What happened?” Jim asked groggily, realizing that he was thirsty and had drooled in his sleep.  
  
“You passed out in a dive bar at two in the morning. The owner checked your id and hailed us to beam you back up.”  
  
“Oh, god,” Jim groaned, covering his face and slightly burrowing into his pillow.  
  
“Don’t worry, we explained that you experience seizures in bright light sometimes, so he didn’t think you partied yourself into a stupor.”  
  
“He bought that?”  
  
“Well,” Uhura said sharply, and Jim stopped wallowing and snapped his attention to her face, which was forecasting stormy weather. “The fact that you weren’t drunk was a big tip off. Frankly, I’m surprised you made it this long without incident.”  
  
“‘Without incident?’” Jim repeated.  
  
Uhura’s mouth closed in a harsh thin line. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”  
  
“Fire away,” he said, and immediately regretted his wording.  
  
“You have been reckless. You work yourself to death, surviving on a scant amount of sleep and coffee fumes. I've told you time after time that you need rest and rehabilitation, but that has apparently fallen on deaf ears. If I didn’t know you were an actual genius, I’d recommend you for competence testing. You’ve been without a first officer for two weeks now and have not chosen a replacement. So now you’re doing the work of the two most senior positions on board and you’ve been on the brink of total exhaustion for months now. Sir.”  
  
Jim could only stare. Uhura had _never_ spoken this way to him, not even close. He should probably be offended and blustering at her, but underlying her harsh tone was a ribbon of actual worry. He’d upset her, and he didn’t quite know how he’d managed to make someone feel like that without trying.  
  
“I’m…now informed,” he said in a small voice. Uhura seemed calmer, the edge in her voice melting away.  
  
“I think you’ll agree that you need less stress in your life. That’s why you obviously need to promote me.”  
  
“I do?” Jim asked, bemused.  
  
“Yes. I already know your schedule from you having a never-ending line of incompetent first officers that always manage to fail at looking after you and the ship, and Gaila will take over half of my shift.”  
  
“She agreed to that?” Jim asked.  
  
“Heck yeah I did!” Gaila sing-songed, swerving from a nearby nurse’s station and plopping down on Uhura’s lap. “Did you tell him he was an idiot yet?”  
  
“You’re edging on insubordinate,” Jim said darkly.  
  
Gaila made a ‘pfft’ sound and waved his words away. Apparently he had failed at instilling any kind of fear in his crew, which while great in face of certain death was hell on day-to-day duty.  
  
“When we have to pick our captain up from behind a dirty bar, the air of majestic authority he possesses just melts away. Let’s celebrate getting the captain back in one piece!” she suggested brightly, nuzzling against Uhura.  
  
“No ‘celebrating’ until we’re off duty,” Uhura said firmly, sounding as if she said those words no less than ten times a day and was only convincing half of those times. Gaila hoisted herself to her feet, seemingly undeterred by the letdown.  
  
“I’ll just ogle you on the bridge and pretend you’re still the stuck up cadet who wouldn’t admit that they liked it when their roommate regularly walked around in her underwear.”  
  
Gaila walked backwards out of sickbay, Uhura following and arguing about who seduced whom. Before Jim could settle down and go over what had just happened, Nurse Chapel came by to give him a shot of something. Jim smiled at her wanly before yelping when she plunged a hypospray into his neck  
.  
“Ow,” he said petulantly.  
  
“So sorry, Captain,” she said, not sounding sorry at all.  
  
Jim sat nonplussed as she went about her duties. Moments later McCoy arrived with Jim’s chart.  
  
“Well, as anyone with eyes can see, you passed out from a nice mix of total exhaustion, some alcohol, trace amounts of opiates, and oh yeah, the _head wound_ from yesterday. You could have gone into a coma, you know that?” McCoy spat out in frustration, scribbling furiously on his chart.  
  
Was everyone in sickbay bent on treating Jim like he hadn’t two brain cells to rub together? He felt a warm thrill crawl up his spine.  
  
This was _great_.  
  
“I think I’ve gotten the message.” Jim sighed, leaning back against his pillow as McCoy adjusted some settings on some equipment Jim had no hope of identifying. “I know I’ve been slipping, and usually I can handle the stress. You ever heard of bad things happening in threes?”  
  
McCoy scoffed. “I grew up in Georgia. I’ve heard every down-home superstition ever created.”  
  
“Yeah well, first I have no first officer, then Spock decides to cut communication with me, and then yesterday happened.”  
  
“You didn’t tell me about the hobgoblin ignoring you.”  
  
“Hey—don’t call him that.”  
  
McCoy held up his hands in mock surrender. “Where I’m from it’s open season on insulting anyone who disrespects a friend of a McCoy.”  
  
Jim flushed at the word ‘friend’ like he was a schoolgirl. McCoy just _looked_ at Jim, trapping the idea between them and not letting Jim let it escape. Eventually McCoy dropped his PADD and pulled up a stool.  
  
“Jim,” he began in a low voice, crossing his arms and appearing hesitant. “I want to talk about yesterday.”  
  
Jim felt like a steel door had been slammed down in his mind.  
  
“No.”  
  
“All right. We are going to talk about what happened yesterday or I neglect to give you medical clearance.”  
  
“That’s blackmail.”  
  
“No, this is a casual psychological screening and I take them pretty seriously when the people I’m treating are in control of this entire ship. You blame yourself for the deaths of those men.”  
  
“Because I’m the reason they died. I’m the one who gave the order.”  
  
McCoy rolled his eyes. “And I’m the reason people die sometimes too.”  
  
“That’s not the same thing.”  
  
“It’s not?” McCoy said sharply, another fit of rage lighting his eyes. “You had to save that colony, and you had to send soldiers off to die. You ever been in a triage situation? Tell me that’s not different, having to leave someone dying on the ground because they’re too far gone and you’ve got a dozen more people who _can_ be saved. Don’t you think I blame myself sometimes, having to leave them behind instead of _trying_?”  
  
“Then you agree that it’s perfectly healthy to feel empathy and assign yourself blame for the death of a crewman?”  
  
“Very cute.” McCoy uncrossed his arms and leaned forward with his hands on his knees. “Why are you like this, Jim?”  
  
“An empathetic human being?”  
  
“A social recluse. So bound to duty that you’re handcuffed to it and have lost the key. Self-critical. Self-loathing. Should I go on?”  
  
Jim felt a hot flush of anger and he leaned away from McCoy, trying to reign in his temper. He still heard McCoy’s voice inside his head, smug. _You’re only this pissed off because it’s true_. A couple of minutes passed, and McCoy didn’t leave, didn’t even change positions, waiting on Jim. Jim slowly felt the anger ebb away, and thought _hell, if I’m ever going to open up to someone, it might as well be the guy sitting there who is currently giving a damn_.  
  
“It’s not just one thing,” Jim started quietly, tired. “But my mind always goes back to it. My mom married Anthony Carter when I was seven. I never had a dad and my mom was emotionally distant when I was growing up. She’d suffered from post-partum depression, so I sort of learned how to blend into the background and just be a good boy so she’d notice me when she was ready. Anthony noticed me right away, took me to see Starfleet Academy the day after I met him. My mom hated that he took me, wanted something else for me, but because she hated it and I had worshipped my dad my entire childhood, I decided I wanted to be a captain someday. Anthony started teaching me how to be an officer. At seven years old, which I get is pretty dysfunctional.  
  
“I graduated early and enlisted at 16. My entire life then was books, manuals, training, never having a social life because Anthony assured me that I could have all that later like he did and that family and friends stand in the way of dreams even without meaning to. I knew it to be true, because my dad died and left his family behind and everything was broken, so I was perfectly okay with reaching for the stars and not paying attention to those around me. After I became Pike’s first officer, I started hearing rumors and whispers about Anthony. He was a commodore by then, and I never wondered why he’d never captained a ship. Then there was this award banquet for Pike and a group of officers were talking about a planet called Tarsus IV.”  
  
“Wait a second, I’ve heard of that,” McCoy said, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember. “Something about a famine, right? We learned about it in an ethics class.”  
  
Jim smiled bitterly. “They wouldn’t have told you what I found out. I did the first illegal thing I’d ever done in my life when I heard about this and hacked into Starfleet confidential records. Turns out Anthony _had_ been a captain, for exactly one mission. The _USS Odyssey_ was sent to provide supplies to the colony but was held up through matters of bureaucracy. Apparently there were Klingon ships sited nearby and so they feared an attack. Regulations state that an oncoming threat must be neutralized before engaging in any relief attempt. People were _starving_ , but he just sat there and waited for an order from Starfleet because of a fucking regulation. Three-fourths of the colonists died. It was estimated that only half the colonists were dead when the ships arrived, but a whole other fourth was gone due solely to the fact that Anthony did every single thing by the book. Of course he wasn’t court marshaled for following direct orders, but they gave him a desk job and promoted him.  
  
“I lost all respect for him. Sometimes I’ll slip and refer to him in the past tense, because it’s like he’s dead to me. Hundreds and hundreds of deaths would haunt me for years if not my entire life, and he was always in a good humor, never sat brooding by himself. I chose the colonists over the safety of my officers yesterday. I actually had to think about it, because how do you deprogram an entire lifetime being taught by the book, being taught by someone who shouldn’t have been teaching in the first place? The hardest decision of my life came during the Narada incident, when I was made acting captain and I had to make all the decisions on my own. I ended up beaming onto the Narada while we were disarming the drill. How stupid is that? I broke 15 regulations in one act, but it ended up saving Vulcan and Pike. I was lucky. I had no idea _how_ lucky until I learned how it went elsewhere in the space time continuum. I hadn’t realized how one little sneeze alarming an armed Romulan could have changed the course of history. If one thing had been different, just one, maybe Vulcan would be gone, Earth too. I could have been a tyrant from an endangered species, the same monster we met recently. I didn't understand him then, but maybe I do now, and that scares me. How the hell am I to know what order to give?”  
  
Silence reigned as Jim slowed his breathing, not knowing when the hesitant pour of words had turned into a tidal wave. Eventually he calmed down and McCoy had drawn back into his usual surly self.  
  
“You know, I don’t know much about your step daddy, but I can bet a million credits that he never warred with himself the way you do. It’s damn easy to follow orders because there’s no guilt attached. You do you duty, clock in a day’s work, leave the blame on someone else’s doorstep and hope it gets swept under the welcome mat. The fact that you’re even bellyaching about universes you’re not even currently _in_ tells me you deserve that center seat. I know damn well I wouldn’t risk working in a glorified tin can in space, spitting in the face of nature on a daily basis if I didn’t think we had the best man for the job sitting up there and making sure my death is a respectable heart attack at 150 years old rather than having my head sucked out of my ass tomorrow.”  
  
Jim let out a sharp, hysterical laugh at that, smiling for the first time in several days.  
  
“Thank you…Leonard,” Jim said, the name sounding funny when said out loud. “I’ve got to figure out a better off duty name for you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Spock entered the ShiKhar Library on the wave of a dust storm, his cloak drawn tight and worse for wear. He removed the cloak and draped it over his arm as he continued past the front hall and into the library proper.

He noted that it was a particularly busy afternoon—nearly all the study tables and holoterminals were filled with patrons. Spock, however, had no need of these amenities. His studies today would take place well removed from the bustle of the crowd.

“Spock,” he heard from behind him, just below his left shoulder. He turned, unsurprised, to see his mother smiling brightly at him.  Her hair was down today and she was wearing a startling shade of blue, a vestment that Spock remembered her being quite fond. He surmised that she was in a most joyful mood and would likely have attempted to hug him had they been at home.

As it was, she simply touched his arm in greeting and guided him through the common area, past several rows of bookshelves, and into the less crowded Terran fiction section.

“It’s been too long since you’ve visited me at work,” she began in an elevated voice.

“11.3 years,” Spock agreed. “I had received the highest marks in my graduating class and we met to celebrate with a fine dinner.”

Mother smiled warmly and gestured to a pair of comfortable armchairs. Spock took the cue to sit with her.

“Well, have you heard a word from the high masters?”

“I have heard several words.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward and playfully swatted his knee.

“What did they say?” Spock sobered, unsure how she would take the news. “You're leaving soon, aren’t you?”

Spock nodded. “In three weeks I begin my seclusion in Vulcan’s forge.”

Mother’s expression appeared wan, but she smiled regardless.

“That’s wonderful, darling. I am so proud of you.”

Spock took her words as truth, but knew that was not the only emotion at work in her mercurial mind. His gaze shifted to the marbled floor.

“I know my parting will prove difficult for you—”

“Stop right there,” she commanded, not unkindly. “I told you long ago that no matter what you do, you will always have a proud mother. In fact, I was so sure of your success that I arranged a little surprise.”

“Mother, gifts—”

“Not a gift, just guidance. As soon as you told me that you were serious about undertaking _kolinahr_ , I asked around and found someone who can help go over the Surakian texts with you this afternoon.”

Spock’s eyebrows rose. That was indeed a surprise, and he felt an unwelcome but equally desired flood of gratitude for such an understanding and considerate mother.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“He told me he’d be here at one o’clock, and I’ve yet to meet a Vulcan who was anything but punctual.”

Ten minutes. That left little time to begin a satisfying dialogue.

“Would you object to sharing a meal together this evening?”

“I’d love to, Spock,” she replied, all traces of internal conflict gone as if they had never existed.

“We can eat at any establishment of your choosing.”

“You sure about that?” she asked teasingly. “I’ve had a recent craving for cheeseburgers.”

Spock internally sighed. He would have to take her to the tourist part of the city where they sold Terran food and he’d have to be subjected to the smell of cooked meat. However, it was a negligible discomfort in return for her pleasure.

“That would be acceptable. Will you be viewing the sacred texts with me?”

“Oh honey,” she said offhandedly, “I’m not allowed.”

Spock felt instantly indignant. What harm could come from a human handling the texts of Surak? It was yet another illogical prejudice he hoped would become understandable or would be proven superfluous when he began his journey to pure logic.

“Spock, you seem tense lately. I thought it had to do with your decision to begin _kolinahr_ , but that’s not everything, is it?”

“A certain amount of tension can be attributed to a mind readying itself for focused, intensive study.”

His mother seemed unimpressed with his explanation.

“You’ve stopped talking to that captain friend of yours recently, I know that much.”

Spock almost startled.

“How were you aware of my correspondences? I will not assume that you have breached my privacy.”

She suddenly pursed her lips and looked away, a gesture he had learned over the years to indicate that insult had been taken. “You can’t imagine he didn’t call while you were at work? Captain Kirk seems like a good friend from the brief chats we had.”

Spock wished he could be more surprised by this revelation, but found he was not. Humans had a habit of seeking each other out and causing complications en masse.

Mother suddenly smirked. “I _had_ been wondering who you were speaking to late at night in your bedroom. I looked him up on the net. He’s quite handsome.”

Spock tried and failed to piece that information together into an understandable whole. What did it matter what Kirk _looked_ like?

But then he thought of Kirk—lean, masculine, startling blue eyes. He supposed that Kirk’s looks were indeed memorable, considering that he could recall them quite well. He cast his mind back to the last time he saw Kirk as Spock departed Earth and Kirk stood, watching his ship leave with a melancholic expresssion.

Spock was not sure, but he thought ceasing communication with Kirk would have been much more difficult if it had been necessary for Spock to look at him to do it.

“Your instructor is here,” Mother said, tapping him on the wrist. Spock broke out of his thoughts and realized that a few minutes had passed in silence. He stood quickly and adjusted his tunic before turning to see that a retreat would have been better served.

“Greetings, Spock,” said the elder Spock, an unholy twinkle in his eye. “And salutations to you as well, Lady Amanda. You are as radiant as ever.”

“I wish to thank you again for coming all the way from Raal to meet with my son,” said Mother, raising her hand in the Vulcan salute.

“It was my pleasure.”

Spock felt his patience quickly exhaust itself.

“Perhaps we should begin,” Spock suggested. His mother appeared slightly crestfallen, but she nodded readily and walked way. He rounded on his counterpart as soon as she had disappeared from sight. “I hardly think you are a qualified to instruct me in the ways of Surak.”

“Probably not,” the elder Spock agreed, mildly surprising Spock. “I come with precisely the opposite of intentions.”

Spock narrowed his eyes. “If this is about Captain Kirk—”

“How readily your mind focuses on him, like you are trying to get home but do not trust the signs pointing you there,” the elder Spock observed in infuriating amusement.

“I shall tell my mother you were most unhelpful,” Spock replied thinly, brushing past his counterpart.

“My presence here has nothing to do with Captain Kirk. Is it such a leap of logic that I truly wish to socialize with you? I found our first talk indescribably fascinating, despite your obvious dislike of me.”

Spock stopped walking and turned back. “It is not dislike so much as disbelief that you and I are indeed the same person. Had there not been irrefutable proof that we shared the same DNA, I would be reluctant to accept our connection.”

“If honesty will compel you to have a seat, I admit to finding our connection something of a miasma myself. At your current age, my life vastly differed from yours. However, some things remain the same, particularly our interest in the pursuit of _kolinahr._ If you will grant me a few minutes in the interest of full disclosure?”

Spock hesitated briefly, before deciding that his curiosity would only be alleviated if he acquiesced. He seated himself where he had been before and the elder Spock where his mother had sat.

“The last time we spoke, I implored you to put aside logic and do what feels right.” Spock stayed silent, as he was aware of this fact. “That advice was not satisfactory. Perhaps I had not considered our differences or felt at the time that vagueness was the proper approach to take.”

“It was simply advice I could not follow,” Spock said, attempting to settle this confusion. “Putting aside logic is unavoidable. I exist solely within the confines of logic.”

The elder Spock nodded. “As one should. It was foolish of me to ask you to follow your emotions when you have been taught to do the precise opposite for a much longer time than I have. This is why I was almost unsurprised when I learned that our mother was in search of a mentor to help you begin _kolinahr_.”

“You do realize that by accepting her request, you have wasted time I could have utilized under the tutelage of a proper guide?”

“I will not waste your time for much longer. Instead of appealing to your emotions, I wish to appeal to your logic.”

Spock stared evenly back at him. “This will be quite informative.”

“Emotionless indeed,” the elder Spock murmured. His voice rose. “Logic would suggest that you should posesses all the relevant information at your disposal before making a major life decision. As someone who has studied with the masters of Gol, I offer first-hand insight with which you can take as fact or dismiss it as inaccurate or fictitious.”

Spock meditated briefly and found no fault within his counterpart’s logic. “I accept your argument and will listen to what you have to say.”

The elder Spock looked visibly relieved, and Spock mentally readied himself.

“Though I have suffered many injuries in my career in Starfleet, the worst injury I have incurred is a broken marital bond.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at this unexpected and personal turn of conversation. Marital bonds were quite common, though it was noteworthy that this one had obviously been strong enough to cause extreme pain.

“I was driven nearly into insanity when it occurred. I underwent many tests, and though the broken bond was indeed affecting me wholly, my healers found unusual damage to my cerebrum that was long healed over. When I was in my right mind again, I inquired after this finding and learned some unsettling truths about my past, most notably about my time in Gol. Spock, have you ever met a Vulcan master who has completed _kolinahr_?”

“I have.”

Spock recalled an aged Vulcan he had met at a diplomatic function when he was barely an adolescent, a Vulcan with an impassable face and disinterested eyes. Sarek had introduced Spock to the master and Spock had remembered being awestruck at the Vulcan’s achievement and remarkable control.

“You would find similar damage in his cerebrum.” Spock gazed disquietly at the elder Spock. “As you are aware, Vulcans have a unique ability to regulate their own bodily systems. Emotions are primarily accessed through the limbic area of the brain. It has been theorized in your time and further substantiated in my own time that Humans have little ability to control their emotions because they are unable to control those parts of their brain. A Vulcan, however, _can_ control how and when they express their emotions, to a drastic extent. If a Vulcan wished to rid himself of an emotion, say, sadness, he or she has the biological capability of ridding their mind of the nerve endings that actuate that emotion.”

Spock could not contain his astonishment. “A Vulcan can knowingly destroy their cells?”

The elder Spock nodded ruefully. “Call it a self-lobotomy. Scant research has been conducted on masters of _kolinahr_. So few achieve it, and those who do are advanced in age and often reclusive. Have you never wondered why masters of _kolinahr_ are so isolated, why they do not hold various positions in the government? They are often seen in academic circles, but never political. Vulcan society does not trust them. As much as we cling to perfect logic, when presented with a specimen capable of that feat, we do not trust in it and consider it straightaway dangerous. The pursuit of _kolinahr_ , then, is fundamentally illogical. If one must physically destroy healthy nerve cells in order to achieve it, then _kolinahr_ is not a mark of self-discipline but simply a willingness to mutilate one’s phisiology.”

Spock found he could not entirely wrap his mind around the idea that _kolinahr_ , the most sacred of Vulcan disciplines, was as dangerous as his counterpart so claimed. Spock had prepared his entire life to undergo the _kolinahr_. It was the unequivocal answer to all of Spock’s difficulties and would provide ultimate proof that he was fully Vulcan and worthy of recognition as such.

“I once reached the precipice of full _kolinahr_ ,” the elder Spock said quietly, rousing Spock from his spiraling thoughts. “The state of complete logic is as difficult for me to explain as it must be for you to imagine. There is no pain, and that would be satisfying if one could feel satisfaction. When pure logic is achieved, the prime motivation for attaining _kolinahr_ is eradicated. There is no pride of accomplishment, no rejoicing, nothing except an existence where you no longer see a color and connect it with a memory or a feeling. Instead, you see a pigment that can be categorized, studied, and stirs nothing within. Perhaps that is another reason masters of _kolinahr_ do not hold traditional careers and are largely relegated to monastic or mathematical pursuits. Their ambitions and passions are absent. I imagine I would have made a poor scientist if I had completed my training. The curiosity that drove me to discovery and adventure would have been amputated and all that I would be fit for is to count and measure the work of others.”

Spock remained dubious of this revelation. “You are suggesting that I not attempt _kolinahr_?”

The fight seemed to leave the elder Spock. He rested heavily in his seat, and Spock felt an unaccustomed pang of disappointment at having tired the older Vulcan so.

“You are a separate individual and are well-equipped to make your own decisions. I can only give you my own testimony in the interest of full disclosure. It is merely logical to give you all the facts, should you choose to consider them as facts.”

Spock went silent and puzzled over this new revelation. The elder Spock waited patiently but expectant.

“I have taken your words under consideration. For now, I wish to meditate in privacy.”

“Certainly. I thank you for your attention.”

Spock stood to his feet, something occurring to him.

“You have traveled a far distance. Have you arranged lodging?”

“I have, though I appreciate your concern and the knowledge that you were about to offer me your guest room.” Spock wished to deny this, but it was a foolish prospect. “I spent many a day in this library, but not in this section. I am curious to see which Terran literary classics made the shelves. They do remind me of more lighthearted times.”

Spock departed, looking back only once to see the elder Spock reach for a novel.

*

Out of ingrained habit, Spock checked his main computer when he returned home before beginning meditation.

Among his usual messages from the VSA administration and pupils, he spotted a priority message from Kirk with no subject, sent two hours ago. He touched the screen to read the message as he had done for all the others Kirk had sent, this time almost pleased that Kirk still attempted to speak with him when before he had dreaded receiving the messages.

That pleasure ran cold as he read the first sentence, a sentence that shattered something crucial within him.

_Spock, by the time you read this, I’ll probably be dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGER I'M A BITCH. No, I do have the next chapter halfway written, so you won't have to wait too long for the next part.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end, just one more chapter and an epilogue! Sorry for the long wait. On the plus side, Welcome to Night Vale fans might find a little something for them in here.

Jim sighed softly in appreciation as soon as he stepped from the shuttle and his feet touched the grass below. Jim loved his ship, but being constantly on board for weeks on end with nothing to do outside of neutral zone patrolling would wear anyone down.

“Readings are showing nothing unusual, Captain,” Lieutenant Nasser reported, stepping from the shuttle herself.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

His good mood further escalated as McCoy moved from the relative darkness of the shuttle. His glasses darkened considerably.

“Nice shades,” Jim cajoled. “You make Starfleet look even more bad ass.”

McCoy scowled, managing to look even cooler.

“They’re prescription and it’s bright out here,” McCoy groused, unceremoniously dumping a large cargo container in front of him.

“Do you think I should get some? Maybe every away team could beam down with some sweet shades, make the locals take us seriously.”

“You know, back home we had a saying. ‘Don’t leave the buttermilk out if you don’t want flies.’”

“How does that have anything to do with our conversation?” Jim demanded. “Isn’t that a song?”

“I’ll have you know my granddaddy told me that. Sure, he was half mad from food poisoning at the time, but the point is for you to shut your trap before you regret it.”

Jim laughed, all the while trying to think of a way to continue the banter. However, he had trouble thinking of something to say that wouldn’t insult McCoy or make the good humor stop. Keeping a friend this long had been almost a miracle and Jim didn’t want that to stop just because he didn’t know how to filter his brain properly.

As it was, he turned his attention to the landing party. There were only four this time, himself, Dr. McCoy, Lieutenant Nasser, and Lieutenant Marple for security. Uhura probably should have beamed down instead of him, but Jim selfishly wanted some time off ship, especially since he hadn’t taken any leave since the last disastrous one.

“All right, we deliver the vaccines to the colony and head out. There’s been trouble near this planet and we should leave before we’re forced to endure another peace summit.”

“If not, the banquet at the last summit _was_ pretty good,” Nessar quipped. McCoy rolled his eyes at her pointedly, and Jim smirked because sometimes he chose his landing parties based on the simple hilarity of personality conflicts.

“Let’s move.”

The Yorevaneit 7 Earth colony was relatively self-efficient and had thrived independently on the planet for three decades. Jim had never been there, but he’d heard of the fantastic research being done here and was eager to learn more of it.

Not that anything related to science reminded him of anyone in particular. He was just really into science these days.

They weren’t in any great hurry, so Jim took his time walking, stopping every few feet to look at the vibrant plant life surrounding the trail of reddish dirt. A large purple blossom opened as Jim passed by and the clouds moved lazy overhead, alternating pleasantly from shadow to light. He’d always loved being outdoors, and it was doing him a world of good right now.

On days like today, it was easy to forget things he’d lost. It had been about two months since Spock had last spoken to him, and Jim marveled at how it still managed to hurt him. He didn’t even know Spock that well and there was nothing tying them together.

Clearly Spock was the smart one, getting out before either of them screwed it up. Besides, unlike other universes, they were doing pretty well in this one without being friends. _Or more than friends_ , he couldn’t help adding, and wasn’t that a strange thought. Then again, so was the thought of casually murdering people.

McCoy mercifully interrupted his thoughts, which really were more suited to a rainy day or late at night alone in his quarters.

“You seem like a nature person. Do you know what kind of flowers these are?” McCoy asked.

“Well, these are yellow and smell…”Jim leaned forward and took a long whiff. “Wonderful.”

“We should have taken Sulu with us. For all you know, you could be breathing in deadly spores.”

“Maybe. They could also be sex pollen.”

McCoy rolled his eyes while Nessar and Marple all but giggled.

“You remember Commander Deavers.”

Jim frowned. Right, his original first officer.

“That was tragic and I’m sorry he died, obviously. But he knew that planet was full of deadly fungus and he went off on his own without protection anyway. We’ve had no readings of deadly plants in the area, which if there _were_ you’d figure the locals would hesitate to plant them along the main road into town.”

“Fair enough.” McCoy huffed, changing his grip on the small vaccine container he was carrying.

They walked peacefully for a few more minutes, passing the research fields. Something seemed off, however. As Jim looked around himself, the feeling of unease intensified.

“Everyone, stop.” They turned to him, expectant. “Look at the fields. They’re overgrown. Why would an agricultural research colony stop tending the fields in the middle of harvest season?”

Jim picked up his communicator and hailed the ship. “Uhura.”

“Uhura here, Captain.”

“Something’s wrong. Send a security team to our coordinates.”

“Something’s wrong here too, sir. We’ve picked up traces of an energy trail, but haven’t found anything that could have made it.”

Jim stood with the communicator in hand, a bone-deep feeling of dread settling in.

“We’re going into the town proper to see if the colonists have any information. Hail me the moment you learn anything new.”

Jim replaced the communicator on his belt and pointed silently toward the village. Taking his cue, his three subordinates readied their phasers to stun and silently moved past the neglected fields.

A short time later, they reached the settlement. It was ominously quiet, having the air of recent abandonment. Jim gave the signal for the other four to spread out and check homes.

Jim opened the door to the first house in his line of sight. Nothing seemed terribly out of place, though upon inspection of a bedroom he saw clothing strewn about an open wardrobe, evidence of a hasty exit. He left that house and moved to another and another, the same signs of quick evacuation present but with no bodies or signs of struggle.

By the time he stepped out of the fifth house, the security team had arrived in the town square. Jim was striding out to meet them when he felt the tell-tale prickle of a transporter. He hadn’t ordered a beam-up, which either meant emergency protocol or he was being transported by a third party. McCoy reached out a hand to futilely keep Jim from leaving, but he was dispersed in a bright flurry of light and atoms.

*

When Jim materialized, he was greeted by a cluster of armed Romulans, their weapons trained on him.

“What is the meaning of this?” Jim demanded as soon as he got his bearings. “What happened to those colonists down there?”

A male Romulan calmly approached from beside their transporter console, exuding the air of a low-ranking officer who had been temporarily given a task of great importance.

“I am sub-commander Tal of the Romulan fleet. You are a hostage of the Romulan Empire. I am to escort you to a holding cell until our commander wishes to speak with you.”

Jim thought about arguing, but whatever dramatic impulse that had led a Romulan warbird to actively encroach upon Federation territory and possibly dispose of two hundred and fifty colonists would not make them hesitate to kill an uncooperative Starfleet captain.

Jim simply nodded and allowed himself to be ushered from the transporter room.

Jim mentally began mapping the general layout of the ship as he was roughly led down several long corridors. Unlike the mining ship Nero had captained, this Romulan vessel was brightly lit and, aside from a few layout and architectural differences, was suitably designed more like a Vulcan craft than Terran.

The brig they were brought to was made of a charcoal gray metal. He was unceremoniously pushed into a cell which was instantly sealed off with an invisible force field.

Before Jim could start demanding an audience with the captain, a female Romulan entered the brig, flanked by two guards.

“What business does the Federation have with this backwater planet?” she asked briskly, as if _she_ had been taken hostage and wronged in this scenario.

“I fail to see how that matters, seeing that it’s within Federation territory. Shouldn’t I be asking _you_ that question?”

The commander appeared dissatisfied yet unsurprised by his answer. “Identify yourself.”

“I am James T. Kirk of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_.”

A flash of recognition sparked in her eye.

“ _Enterprise._ Tell me, was it you who murdered Commander Narak?”

The name escaped Jim momentarily before he recalled the Romulan spy who had infiltrated Director Spock’s research team and stolen information on the black hole device. His eyes narrowed.

“No.” He neglected to tell her how much Narak’s _actual_ murderer resembled himself, but this wasn’t exactly an auspicious moment to start discussing multiuniverse theory. “Besides, Narak wasn’t exactly an innocent. He powered down the engines on our ship during a crisis and endangered the lives of over a thousand people.”

The commander stared evenly at Jim, neither deciding to believe in his word nor completely disregarding his account.

“Be that as it may, blood was shed on both sides that day. I find little incentive to divulge any information regarding our own presence here, particularly since you will soon discover that for yourself.”

“Then why even visit me at all?” Jim asked, continuing on a hunch. “Unless you want to rub something in my face. Tell me, did you personally know Narak? He died quickly, if that concerns you.”

Cold anger stole over her face, and Jim carefully hid his own gratification. _Bingo_.

“You and your _Enterprise_ have interrupted a training mission. In doing so, you have just made yourself into a prisoner of war.”

“If you think the Federation can be ransomed—”

“What we believe is none of your concern.” She turned sharply to a guard next to her. “Keep constant watch over him until you receive your next orders.” 

The guard saluted her and Jim watched her and the second guard leave.

He paced quickly back and forth, mind racing. None of this made sense. He’d known that the Romulans had been testing their brand of red matter thanks to good ‘ol Narak, but all evidence showed that they were testing on empty planets. It had simply been bad luck that the last time they used it was on a planet that held an ancient alien structure that split open three parallel universes.

Speaking of luck, how likely was it that his ship just happened to be scheduled to drop off supplies today? Unless it hadn’t been pure luck. His mind turned that over, thinking of the colonists missing and vaccination requests…

 _Subspace communication_. Those brilliant scientist colonists. They’d picked up on the same energy trail way before the _Enterprise_ got here, and instead of sending out an emergency hail that would easily be intercepted by the Romulans, they’d sent an innocuous, routine subspace message for supplies. There was a greater chance for a starship to just happen by the planet than it would have otherwise and a message like that would slip by as much as any other noise out there.

The colonists must have gone into hiding as soon as they detected the _Enterprise_ , because they would be the first target if the Romulans discovered what they’d done. The colonists were likely on board his ship right now, trying to get their equipment beamed on board with them.

But that didn’t mean Jim was going to sit here and let the Romulans destroy the planet and fuck off with him to Romulus. If they really were testing a black hole device here, then they had decided those colonists were collateral damage from the outset.

Jim turned his mind to his prison cell. The guard was sharp and attentive, which meant Jim couldn’t start physically messing with the cell to find weak points. Jim slumped to the floor, affecting a façade of defeat. In front of him was a seemingly open door, but Jim knew he’d be shocked unconscious if he stepped into it. The answer was right in front of him, because force fields could be tampered with. Jim smirked. This was the exact reason Jim had vetoed the use of force fields on the _Enterprise_ , much preferring the reliability of a solid, rudimentary _wall_.

He had a plan, though it was reckless and required a precision he might not possess. Waiting for the guard to glance away, Jim slipped his fingers into a small square of velcroed fabric on the waistline of his pants. He pretended to adjust his shirt as he extracted one of two transporter chips every officer in Starfleet kept for this exact situation.

The chips had been his idea and Scotty’s design. He didn’t spend hours alone in his quarters with nothing to show for it, after all. Each chip had just enough power to create a signal the _Enterprise_ could spot and beam aboard, two because having a backup was just good sense.

Jim held the chip like he was going to shoot a marble. His plan had a good chance of failing, the exact percentage he’d maybe like to know before carrying it out. He waited for the guard to look away again, and when he did, Jim shot the transporter chip directly into a grate of the force field side paneling.

The field went crazy for a second, satisfyingly like Jim had actually tried to walk past it. Jim quickly hid behind the frame of the door, waiting for the guard to notice the empty cell. The guard predictably rushed in spotted him just as Jim kicked his blaster away and swept his legs out from under him. By the time the guard found his bearings, Jim had grabbed the guard’s blaster and stunned him.

Freedom in hand, Jim used the second chip to lock on his signal. A minute passed and Jim swore because the transporters must not be working. Jim heard footsteps outside, so he pilfered a communicator off the unconscious guard and found a side door that deposited him in a room used to store prisoner personal effects.

Jim had just enough time to hide in a cargo container before the door was opened by two new guards searching for him. They left quickly, obviously believing Jim had either transported or found a new destination. Jim waited a couple of minutes before he opened the communicator and worked on the settings so he could reach his ship.

Blessedly the communicator crackled to life and he heard Uhura’s golden voice.

“Where the hell are you?” she snapped. Music to his ears.

“I’m okay, Lieutenant. Did you get my transporter signal?”

“Of course we did, but transporters aren’t working. Captain, they’ve started drilling.”

 _God damn it_. _No wonder the transporters aren’t working_.

“Have the colonists been found?”

“Yes, we were able to beam them up before the transporters failed. We’re sending a team to take out the drill so we can try and beam you back, but Jim, you have to be careful. Every report of cloaking devices says that beaming is tricky if not impossible while they’re engaged.”

Great. Now he had to hope his crew will disarm the drill before a black hole was made and the Romulans escaped with him along for the ride. Even then, he’d read the reports too and Uhura was being generous with calling it ‘tricky.’

Jim suddenly remembered the ace up his sleeve.

“Uhura,” he asked sweetly, “How do you think my girl would look with a new cloaking device?”

*

The corridors were filled with Romulans, so Jim found a maintenance tube and used a series of long, winding tunnels to climb to the lower levels. If this ship really did follow Vulcan design, then engineering would be to the front of the secondary hull instead of the back.

If his crew could just disarm that drill, then Jim could take care of the rest.

Jim heard the sonorous hum of the engines as he finally reached engineering. Their warp drive had a red hue and a circular shape. Jim ducked behind a railing as he scanned the room, wondering what the hell a cloaking device would look like.

“Uhura, get me Scotty,” he whispered into his communicator, turning the volume to its lowest audible setting. “Scotty?”

“Right here Captain!” Scotty whispered excitedly, right on cue.

“What do you reckon a cloaking device would look like?”

“Well, no one’s ever seen one don’t you know,” Scotty said. “It’s likely small, probably no bigger than half your height. They’d have to tie it to the ship’s deflector shield grid.”

Jim looked for said grid, and spotted it and the cloaking device at the other end of the room, surrounded by armed Romulans.

“Perfect. I’m going to put a transporter chip on it. When we take out the drill, beam it up as fast as you can, then get me the hell out of here because I think they’re gonna be pissed.”

“Aye sir,” Scotty said.

Jim swallowed hard, wondering how many Romulans he could take out from here. If he shot the two down in front and blasted that power generator, the resulting fire would blindside the group nearest the cloaking device and Jim might be able to stun a few more. He counted to three and did just that.

The front Romulans went down and the generator lit up in a shower of sparks as Jim jumped onto the main floor and rushed the group of Romulans near the explosion as they staggered back in shock and pain. Three more Romulans came out of nowhere and began shooting at Jim on sight.

Jim rolled around the warp core and let out a flying kick to a nearby officer’s stomach. A large mountain of a Romulan appeared and managed to slap the blaster out of Jim’s hand. Jim cursed at the hit and then at another that landed on his collarbone. If the guard had better traction and was faster, he could easily have killed Jim with a properly aimed punch.

 As it was, Jim managed to simply lunge away and run full tilt to the cloaking device, sliding to a stop in front of it. He discreetly planted the transporter chip on the back where no one could see and remove it and was summarily pulled back into the fray.

Jim received another glancing blow to his stomach, leaving him momentarily winded. He found another blaster and used it to take out his worst opponents. Then Jim nearly cheered in relief when he heard the tell-tale hum of a transporter and the Romulans yelled in outrage as their cloaking device was spirited away.

They’d taken out the drill then, and Jim just had to stick it out for as long as it took them to pick out the one human among the Romulans.

That was easier said than done, because reinforcements had arrived in engineering and they were indeed _pissed_. Jim blasted a few more control panels, putting a rubble and fire barrier between him and the oncoming hoard, buying him a few precious moments.

Jim choked as a Romulan got him in a headlock from behind and tried pitch him into a fire. Jim bucked hard, using their momentum to kick against a metal pillar. The pillar broke off from its supports and created a kind of domino effect on the rest of the pillars.

His assailant skittered away and Jim had only a moment to wonder why before part of the wall broke off and came crashing down on Jim. He screamed in agony as his leg was crushed under a heavy piece of a support beam. He was pinned there on the floor, helpless, his leg broken in probably dozens of places.

He struggled in spite of that, trying to get hold of his discarded weapon, but soon realized that there was no one left in the warp core. That’s when he heard it, the mechanical drone of a destruct sequence countdown—they were destroying their own ship.

Jim sank down, staring up at the smoke-filled ceiling. Of course—they probably had another cloaked ship nearby all this time, one outfitted less for battle and more for research. Their drill was destroyed and the _Enterprise_ was likely giving them a hell of a fight, considering that their shields had been down while cloaked and it took several seconds to put them back up.

But something else was wrong, because he still hadn’t been beamed back yet.

Groaning, Jim shakily dug in the pocket of his leg, trying not to look at the mess below him. There was a hell of a lot of blood and the beam had cut deeply into his leg. If he moved the wrong way, he might bleed out and die right here. He brought the communicator to his mouth.

“One to beam up,” Jim said, and if he sounded a bit impatient, then it was likely due to waves of excruciating pain making him moody.

“Captain,” Uhura said, and Jim did not like the sound of her voice. “After we destroyed the drill and opened attack, they did something to block the transporter signal again. We think it’s the second cloaked ship arming another drill. Scotty’s working on it, we’ll get you out of there.”

Jim laughed darkly, spelling his doom in the drone of the countdown.

“They’ve started an auto-destruct sequence. Sounds like I’ve got about six and a half minutes.”

The line went quiet. “Jim—”

“I know, Uhura. You guys are a great crew, you know that?”

“Don’t talk like that,” Uhura scolded, losing some of her calm. “”We’re working our asses off—you don’t get to check out that easy.”

Jim gasped out a weak laugh. “Can I talk to Dr. McCoy?”

“I’m already here Jim. What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into now?” McCoy grouched. Shame that Jim was only just beginning to understand that the meaner McCoy got, the more worried he actually was. He’d wished he could have gotten a chance to learn more about him. “Are you losing too much blood? Can you see bones?”

“I think I’ve got a bit more to worry about than my bones right now. Hey, Bones. That’s a good nickname for you, Doctor.”

“Call me Tootsie if you want, just sit still and don’t aggravate your injury ‘till I get there.”

Stubborn was McCoy’s middle name. “If I don’t make it, I just want you to know that you mean a lot to me, and it’s not the blood loss talking.”

“That’s great,” McCoy said fiercely, voice on the edge of breaking. “But yell louder so we can hear you.”

Jim smiled wryly. “Call me if something changes.”

He lowered the communicator and felt his first cold rush of understanding. He was going to die soon.

A wave of fear overcame him. He thought of an afterlife, if this was it or if maybe he’d continue on. He’d always privately believed that there was nothing after death, but not lately. Things had been getting better. He was just beginning to make friends and live his life. He’d put off living for so long and now he was here with nothing to show for it, facing the finality of death.

And then there was Spock.

Of course his thoughts fell on Spock, because out of all the disappointments and failures in his life, this one cut the deepest. It didn’t seem fair that in every other universe he knew of, he shared such a profound bond with another individual, but in this universe Spock wanted nothing to do with him.

Yet, somehow the thought of Spock was calming, steadying. He even imagined briefly that Spock would be upset by news of his death, but he wasn’t even sure of that. Why did he think Spock would care? Maybe he was thinking about two different Spocks who would care a great deal that he was dying.

Three Spocks in all, each vastly different from the other, yet for some reason they had all met. What were the chances of that happening? Just how many billions of tiny details went into all three ships meeting at that exact point in time and crossing over? His reality was the strangest, because Spock had been a stranger who had just happened to be studying one of hundreds of other projects the VSA had going at any one time.

Put that way, it seemed less like there was nothing to guide those stars and more like destiny.

Jim snatched the communicator off the ground.

“Bones, you there?”

“Yeah, Jim.”

“Can you write something down for me and send it to Spock?”

McCoy sighed and Jim knew the exact level of fucked he was when McCoy rustled for a pad and simply said, “Go ahead.”

*

_Spock, by the time you read this, I’ll probably be dead. I’m not entirely sure why I’m having my chief medical officer transcribe this for you, but…I couldn’t just have you not know what happened or find out through some third party. You know, I still remember what that other Kirk said to his Spock. The exact words escape me, but that other Kirk told his Spock that he was at his best with you around. I just want to say that I’m sorry for, well, for not knowing you like that. Despite everything, I think you’re great. I wish—just, don’t forget to live, Spock, because life is fucking short. I hope you have a fantas—_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go!

_Spock, by the time you read this, I’ll probably be dead. I’m not entirely sure why I’m having my chief medical officer transcribe this for you, but…I couldn’t just have you not know what happened or find out through some third party. You know, I still remember what that other Kirk said to his Spock. The exact words escape me, but that other Kirk told his Spock that he was at his best with you around. I just want to say that I’m sorry for, well, for not knowing you like that. Despite everything, I think you’re great. I wish—just, don’t forget to live, Spock, because life is fucking short. I hope you have a fantas—_

*

Spock remained motionless in front of his computer terminal for an indefinite amount of time. He read the message over and over, though he had committed it to memory after the first reading. Slowly, he pushed his chair away from his desk, though he did not yet rise from his chair.

No particular thought dominated his thinking, only a growing tightness in his chest. Kirk was…gone. He would never see Kirk again. It should not matter as much as it did. Had that not been what Spock desired, to forever cut ties with Kirk? That had indeed been his initial wish, but now he knew that he had never truly believed in his own fiction. He had never intended to completely eradicate Kirk from his life. Now he was given no choice in the matter.

Spock finally rose to his feet after several moments of feeling lost in a desert storm, directionless and reeling from the unexpected tumult. A surge of fury blazed through him—he lashed out blindly at the chessboard he kept set up next to his desk, bereft of the pieces he had resolutely put back weeks ago. The board toppled over, shattering as it crashed to the floor.

Spock stared in fascination at the ruined chessboard. He had not had such an outburst of emotion since he was a small child. He stared at the destruction for some moments before he lowered his hand and returned to his desk chair.

Spock had never experienced death like this. The closest to grief he had ever come was when a former schoolmate of his died in a shuttle crash. Surakian teachings allowed one to grieve if an individual’s life been taken at a young age and in an unexpected manner. Therefore Spock _was_ allowed to grieve, but he did not believe that smashing personal possessions over the death of an acquaintance was considered appropriate.

As he did when the worst happened, Spock began to organize and contemplate a course of action that would allow him to function efficiently in an uncertain situation.

He would have to inform his mother, because she would know instantly if there was something amiss with Spock. He might inform his father, who had once met Kirk and would like to know of his passing. Finally, he would have to tell his older counterpart, who hardly deserved more grief this late in life and, more distressingly, would echo Spock’s own feelings on the matter.

He had classes to teach tomorrow. For the first time in his life, Spock was sure he would be unable to perform his duties. He would need to take time off, something he had never done before, having never been seriously ill or having lost someone close to him.

And that was perhaps the one thing that made all his plans fall apart as soon as they formed. Somehow, Kirk had become important to Spock, without doing anything extraordinary. He’d simply been _there_ , a companionable presence who wanted to know more about Spock for the sake of just knowing more about Spock.

But no, it had never been that simple. Kirk had always unsettled Spock. He remembered when they first met, Kirk materializing on the transporter pad at the VSA’s visitor center, peering interestedly around himself at the tall spires above him, ever the explorer. Spock had held back a moment to observe Kirk, for no other reason than that Kirk fascinated him with his youth and poise. He had been so typically human in look and mannerisms, but not in an insulting or undesirable way. He was much like the memories Spock had of his mother dreamily strolling through her gardens and smelling flowers she obviously knew the scent of, but couldn’t help sampling again.

Before that fateful mission aboard the _Enterprise_ had become volatile, Spock had enjoyed speaking with Captain Kirk in the halls of the ship, for no other reason than the fact that it felt satisfying to be out there among the stars, putting his knowledge to practical use. In those first moments, the constant and unrelenting fear of his human half had faded in the light of the revelation of James T. Kirk.

However, that peace had not lasted long and Spock left the mission decidedly ill at ease. Meeting multiple versions of himself and Kirk only proved that Spock’s control could be irrevocably compromised based on any number of outside factors. Why, he’d even lost control during that mission, and for the most base, human reason. When Spock closed his eyes, he still could see that other Jim Kirk, crawling naked to Spock’s feet and gazing heavy-lidded at Spock with eyes that burned blue like the hottest part of a flame. Standing up and leaning obscenely close to Spock, mouth so close to Spock’s face that he could feel Kirk’s breath on his skin.

That memory, however, could not compare to the end of that mission, another Jim Kirk helpless and crying as his world was taken from him, a world that was inexplicably another _Spock_.

He had not known.

Spock sat for several minutes more, lost.

He heard a message ping from his terminal.

Galvanized by something concrete to accomplish, he called up his messaging service and saw one new notification, care of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_.

An illogical flare of hope kindled in his chest, and he briefly hated himself for it. The message was again from Dr. McCoy, who was likely just sending more details about the…the situation. Spock opened the message with a tenuous hope.

_Jim Kirk is among the living. He very nearly wasn’t and he’s pretty banged up, but he should heal just fine. The captain sends his apologies for his earlier missive, and I send my apologies for the conflicting reports, which weren’t my fault, but I have the captain’s orders to take some responsibility for this mess._

_Dr. Leonard McCoy_

_U.S.S. Enterprise NC-1701_

 

The first emotion he felt was pure elation. Kirk was alive.

 

The next was irritation. If he had only waited to check his messages, he would have spared himself nearly an hour of grief. He was also irritated with Kirk and McCoy. Humans were woefully dramatic, sending farewell missives before actual death certificates.

 

But all that mattered so very little. Kirk was alive. Kirk was _alive_.

 

“Spock!” his mother called out from the foyer. “What time would you like to leave for dinner?”

Spock met her at the door to his room. He reached out and held her hands in his.

“Spock?” she asked worriedly, before she looked properly at his face. She smiled. “Darling—you almost appear _pleased_.”

Spock did not respond, simply regarded her. She, too, was here, when in other universes she might not have been. Spock was indescribably fortunate.

“I must speak with Father,” he said, clutching her hands tighter, triggering a now brilliant smile.

It was time that he ceased living a half-life.

*

It was good fortune that Sarek was not only on Vulcan at the time, but also in the same city. It took Spock only 2.3 hours to arrange a meeting with Sarek at the Vulcan embassy, where upon arrival he was led to Sarek’s office and seated in a surprisingly plush armchair.

Spock spent the brief time before Sarek’s arrival by controlling one of the few emotions he was intimately familiar with: anxiousness.

Spock rarely saw great change in his life. Events happened in predictable shifts, much like the turn of the seasons. Graduating from the VSA and going on to teach in the same institution had merely been trading one desk for another. Yet in just one afternoon, he had made at least two life-altering decisions, not even pausing to consider them.

He was behaving most unlike a Vulcan.

On that thought, Sarek entered the office. Sarek formally greeted Spock with the _ta’al_ , which Spock returned, and informally opted to sit in an adjacent armchair rather than behind his desk. The gesture was small and not unexpected, but it managed to calm Spock a trace amount, enough to allow his heart rate to slow and ease the frenzied pounding in his side.

“The last time you came to the embassy,” Sarek began, “was when your mother came to parlay for your grandmother’s passport discrepancy and you were too young to be left alone. Is there something wrong?”

“My haste should not be construed as negative. All is well,” Spock assured.

“I am pleased. I would, however, like to ascertain why you have so urgently arranged this meeting.”

Spock had spent the past 2.3 hours deciding _which_ announcement he would make first. Ultimately, he decided that the one most likely to displease Sarek would be the wise choice. He had made this decision with his mother’s voice in his head: _I’d far rather rip the band-aid off than slowly peel it away_. He finally understood the metaphorical application of that phrase.

With a carefully drawn breath, he straightened his back as far as physically possible, and announced, “I have decided not to undergo _kolinahr_ at this time.”

Sarek went silent for a few moments, moments that could very well mean an entire host of things, given that Sarek could be thinking any host of things and Spock would never be able to read it in his body language or mannerisms.

“While I harbored the pride and expectation that you would accomplish such a feat, I find myself as much relieved as dismayed. Your mother was right in her belief that you are quite young and there is no need to haphazardly rush into that kind of commitment.”

Spock felt a wave of astonishment at the ease with which Sarek took that first revelation. Though united in support of Spock, his parents had held differing views on _kolinahr_ , Sarek naturally in favor of it.

“I am pleased that you are not disappointed with my decision.”

Sarek’s expression shifted to one of mild fondness, as if charmed by Spock’s distress.

“ _Kolinahr_ is a strict discipline that would dramatically alter your life. I would think less of you if you had gone through it in a misguided effort to please your father.”

Spock nodded once in acknowledgment. With the most difficult news behind him, Spock let himself relax as much as he could around his father.

“I have one more pressing decision to impart, one that requires a great deal of your professional expertise.”

“I am, as your mother inelegantly puts it, ‘all ears’,” Sarek said, his expression growing ever fonder.

“I wish to leave my position as Director of Quantum Physics and instead pursue a career at the consulate with the hope that I may one day be an ambassador of Vulcan as well.”

Sarek's face closed off, startling Spock. “I do not believe that is a wise decision.”

Disbelief chased itself through Spock’s head and he stared uncomprehending at his father. It had all seemed so simple in his mind, and it was that simplicity that had him reciting his reasoning by rote.

“I fluently speak 34 non-Vulcan languages and 117 dialects. I graduated at the top of my class and have received several prominent awards in my field. I recognize that my experience in a business or political sphere is limited and I have anticipated taking an entry position until I can gain more experience.”

Sarek stood up from his armchair, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“You have shown no interest in my line of work until now. There is little scientific work at the consulate or the embassy.”

“I acknowledge that to be true. However, it is a sacrifice I am willing to make. I have known former and current ambassadors to succeed in business or politics, some even in medicine or law enforcement. My scientific expertise could be used to administer better computer systems for other Federation worlds or provide aid in crisis situations aboard starships.”

Sarek unclasped his hands and moved to sit behind his desk decisively. Spock did not know when the conversation had turned into the interrogation of an errant child in Sarek’s mind, but there was little that could stop this collision.

“Your logic on that last point is flawed. Your expertise has already been sought out aboard a starship, and that incident did not turn up in your favor. While cleared of all charges, there are those who think poorly of your actions aboard the _Enterprise_ and still more who see ineptitude in letting a Romulan spy infiltrate such a classified study.”

Spock bristled at both the reminder of that mission and of opinions he should have expected but had no considered. This was the same prejudice he had encountered from the Vulcan Science Academy some weeks ago when they barred him from entrance into new research studies.

“It is for that very reason that I intend to push forward. My entire life has consisted of overcoming prejudice and exceling where others believed I could not. The academy, however distinguished, maintains a parochial attitude. Where in most professions my heritage would be a detriment, in diplomacy it could ingratiate me to those humans who might find bias in a pure Vulcan’s speech.”

Spock went silent, not knowing how to more plainly articulate his views. Sarek gazed unmoved, clearly past the point of debate.

“It is precisely your human half that will hinder you in this pursuit,” Sarek murmured. Spock froze, unseeing. “An ambassador of Vulcan is placed on a higher podium than most. An ambassador of Vulcan not only must excel in his field, but he must be a perfect, living example of Surakian teachings. We are judged by the representatives we send abroad to speak on Vulcan’s behalf. In light of your decision to postpone _kolinahr_ , which would soundly prove that you are capable of such control, I will not support your endeavor to continue along this path.”

The frozen recesses of his mind exploded into an avalanche of realization. Sarek had been right in exactly one respect: without completing _kolinahr_ , no Vulcan would ever truly trust that Spock would not succumb to his human urges. This prejudice was not new to Spock—it had, after all, been most of the reason he had decided to complete _kolinahr_ in the first place.

But now it was coming from his father, and despite the lifelong distance between them, Spock had always believed his father to be one of the most progressive Vulcans he knew. He at first felt an almost child-like hurt as the nascent need for his father’s approval was denied.

Why should he be held to a different standard than other Vulcans? His intelligence was not only equal to a typical Vulcan, but he was considered a genius among them. His appearance and biological makeup was overwhelmingly Vulcan. He should be given the same basic chance that anyone else had, not assumed guilty before he even committed an act of Humanity. 

He knew, however, that along with his father, Vulcans would always distrust Spock based on these prejudices, because they had no reliable proof that Spock would not turn if he were to be exposed completely to human culture. In their perspective, Spock had lived isolated from human culture his entire life, and the first time Spock was in the prolonged presence of humans, he faltered.

“I admit that my decision should be more considered,” Spock said absently, his mind still racing.

Sarek appeared indulgent, which propelled Spock from hurt to reckless anger.

 “You are young and are entitled to question your place in the universe. Perhaps teaching is not wholly suited for you. There are other careers in your field that would serve you better. I can contact some members of the government who could utilize your skillset, if you wish for me to contact them.”

Spock knew then that _no_ career path on Vulcan would allow him to combat ingrained prejudices, not even one of ambassador. Spock would always be treated as a second-class citizen, always distrusted.

Unless, of course, he proved them wrong.

The idea that came to him was ludicrous, yet felt like the final piece of a puzzle he had not known he was working was slotted into place. Spock looked back at his father, an iron resolve grounding him. Sarek was a Vulcan like any other, and his calm, condescending regard made it easy for Spock to not think.

“I rescind my decision to become an ambassador,” Spock declared, waiting a single beat before Sarek could respond and added, “Instead, I have decided to enlist in Starfleet.” 

Sarek glared intensely at Spock, thin-lipped and unmoving. Spock waited with a thrill of dread, knowing that he had stepped over a line. However right Spock might be, there was still a childish part of him that feared what his father would say.

“Leave Vulcan altogether? Why throw away every accomplishment you have ever achieved only to turn from your upbringing?”

Some impetus drove Spock to his feet so he could stare defiantly down at his father.

“What good is an accomplishment if it is always in question? All my life I have followed the Vulcan way, yet when I ask for some measure of unbiased logic applied to myself, I am instead stymied by ignorance and narrow-mindedness.”

“Your logic is flawed,” Sarek said coldly, flattening his hands on his desk. “You contain the biological makeup of two species. It is logical to assume that you would inherit traits from both species. Living amongst humans would only encourage those undesirable traits.”

“You believe that I would fail?” Spock asked, his earlier defiance weakening in the face of his father’s calm certainty of Spock’s flawed character.

“You would fail because of your human emotions. Even now you begin to behave as human.”

“If I fail, then that is my burden to bear,” Spock said quietly. “All I ask is for you to support my decision.”

Sarek held himself still a long moment, deliberating his words. It gave Spock enough time for a glimmer of hope to emerge, that his notoriously stubborn father would bend just this once to his son. The moment, however, ended.

“I stand by my convictions. If you choose this path, you will wander it alone.”

It took every ounce of control Spock had not to show emotion as the words cut through his defenses. Spock knew his father, and he was effectively telling Spock that he had lost his father this day. It was difficult to do, but Spock gathered up whatever reservoir of strength he still possessed and walked to the door.

He stopped just before the threshold, hesitating. Everything was changing so fast, and despite his own stubbornness, this one weakness remained.

“I will go forward alone,” Spock said heavily, “But know that I do not do so contently.”

It was the most he could reveal without falling apart and begging his father to reconsider. Sarek remained silent, and though Spock lingered in fleeting hope, he knew that Sarek had already spoken his last word to Spock.

The offices and hallways blurred around him as Spock made his way out of the embassy. There was no way Spock could contain his emotions, so instead he parsed through them and settled on the ones that would benefit him the most at present. Steely resolve tightened his movements as he descended the steps of the embassy and returned home to contact Starfleet and begin making arrangements.

As he did so, an uncertain pleasure came to him. Despite how it had come to be, joining Starfleet might be better than becoming an ambassador. If he was immediately accepted, he could be on Earth again in a matter of days, training for a brand new career.

In time, he’d be out among the stars, making new discoveries and exploring distant worlds. He might even join a familiar crew one day, and, if universal constants existed, serve under the perfect captain.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter! Thank you to everyone who has followed this and waited patiently for the end.

The first time Jim gained consciousness, he was in a hell of a lot of pain and McCoy was cursing him for nearly getting himself killed. He’d lasted five minutes before passing out again, long enough for McCoy to reluctantly tell him he’d sent his dying words to Spock and for Jim to go into hysterics about it.

If Spock didn’t think Jim was clingy and socially awkward before, he sure as hell did _now_.

The second time he woke up, he was in a lot less pain and there were flowers and gifts surrounding him. This had never happened to him before, so he stared in confusion at each of them, wondering just how dead everyone had thought he’d been.

“There’s more stuff in my office. I won’t have my sickbay clogged up like a hospital gift shop,” McCoy said, neatly stepping over a stuffed tribble.

Jim started to move, but was arrested by a sharp pain in his right leg.

“How in the hell did I survive?”

McCoy leaned casually on a tray table. “Well, as you know, we beamed up the cloaking device and a second cloaked ship started drilling, rendering the transporters useless again. Scotty managed to install our brand new cloaking device, and it turns out that is has a nice feature which lets one device remotely access all other devices in range so they can be armed at once in battle. Uhura suggested figuring out if the opposite was possible, _disarming_ all neighboring devices, and sure enough we de-cloaked the one blocking the transporter signal. You passed out a minute before the countdown ended from blood loss, and we beamed you up with precisely six seconds to spare.”

Jim blinked.

“Yeah,” McCoy continued, face hardening. “You’re damn lucky. Not only that, but stupid to boot. Did you _really_ need to steal the cloaking device? If you had used the transporter chip instead of relying on us having to trace your bio readout, you would have immediately been beamed up.”

Jim thought over everything and decided that McCoy was right. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid risk and I want Uhura to officially reprimand my actions.”

McCoy actually _harrumphed_ and sat on the edge of the biobed.

“She won’t do that. Intimidate you into opting out of the next five or six away missions, sure. Well, when you’re ready to serve again.”

“Wait, what? It’s a broken leg, it’ll be a few days, tops.”

McCoy stood up and crossed his arms. His eyes darted to the side, clearly trying to think of an easy way to deliver bad news.

“Your leg wasn’t just broken. It was damn near _severed in half_. You’ve been asleep for five days.”

Good lord, five days? Jim had never been _this_ badly injured before.

“Okay, so I’ll need longer to recover. How long are we talking?”

“Jim, we had to reconstruct most of your leg. We almost lost the damn thing. It could take weeks, maybe months.”

“ _Months_?”

“I opted you out of an artificial leg, which would have disqualified you for a command position. I was pretty sure you would have made the same call.”

“Thank you,” Jim said fervently.

“Hang on, because you’re not out of the woods yet. You’ll need to have a couple more surgeries to regrow the muscle and tendons that were removed and physical therapy to build strength in your leg. You’ll be able to walk in a couple of days, but you should use a cane. After that, it all depends on you. You’ll certainly regain the use of it, but you need to be careful or it won’t heal properly and you could get barred from command anyway.”

“So what, I’m grounded until further notice?”

“Well, we’re all taking two months of leave. Starfleet was so damn happy to have the cloaking device that they’re practically throwing flower petals at our feet. Not to mention that the 243 colonists we’re currently hosting are so happy we saved their lives that they’re blowing up every social media outlet on Earth with tales of our heroics, so we could probably spit on Admiral Barnett and get away with it. After two months, who knows.”

Jim looked away from McCoy, absorbing the news. He would just have to work hard and take it easy, because losing command was not an option. Something else occurred to him.

“You did tell Spock about the…misunderstanding?”

McCoy smirked the smirk of a man who was in want of a mustache to twirl.

“Oh, I told him. In fact, he sent a message _back_.”

“ _No_ ,” Jim breathed, mortified. “Bones, tell me it’s not that bad.”

“How should I know? He sent the message to _your_ communicator. I know because you set his notification tone to the cutest little twinkle.”

“It’s not that cute; it was already programmed.” McCoy certainly didn’t need to know that he’d spend ten minutes choosing which one to assign to Spock and had chosen one that made him think of walking through the arboretum. “You didn’t read it?”

“That would be an invasion of your privacy,” McCoy admonished, which wasn’t a no.

“Tell me what he said.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Tell me what he said or...I’ll program your quarters to only open if you shout, ‘these are not my real tits’.”

“Fine, but you have to promise not to freak out.”

“Oh god,” Jim groaned, burying his face in his hands. “He admonished me for bothering him. No wait, he _thanked_ me for thinking of him, but wanted to remind me that we are not on speaking terms.”

“Wow, that wasn’t freaked out at all. Here,” McCoy said, reaching over to a side table and brandishing Jim’s communicator at him. “Just read the damn thing.”

Jim grabbed it uncertainly, fingers flying over the screen and finding over a hundred new messages. After a bit of searching, he located Spock’s and read:

_I was pleased to learn that you were not deceased. Your near-departure did have one positive result—I realized that I was wrong to cease communication with you. If you are amenable, I would like to begin our correspondence again._

Jim looked awestruck at McCoy. “He doesn’t hate me, what do you know? I’m sort of glad I almost died.”

McCoy struck Jim on the back of the head with a large get well card, which was patient abuse if you asked him.

“Keep reading, it gets crazier.”

_My father and I had a disagreement over my career choices. You may recall our own discussion over the possibility of my becoming an ambassador. I’m afraid I will not pursue that career nor will I continue my teaching post. Instead, I have enlisted in Starfleet._

Jim stared at his communicator in shock.

“Did you send me this? Am I being pranked?”

“Even if we wanted to, do you really think any of us would actually think to write that?”

Jim had to agree.

_I was almost instantly recruited, most likely due to my inestimable scientific achievements. I was told that no Vulcan, even half of one, had ever applied before. My timing was perfect; they are only one week into their winter term, so I can immediately embark on my new career path._

_When you are able and if you are willing, I would like to speak with you. We have much to discuss. Live long and prosper,_

_Spock_

Jim lowered the communicator and stared off into the middle distance.

“Hey, you there,” McCoy said, snapping his fingers in front of Jim’s face. “We’re landing in a couple of hours. Want me to see if big, tall and green’s address is in the student registry yet?”

Jim rested his head on his pillow and murmured happily, “Yeah, do that.”

*

McCoy hadn’t been wrong about Starfleet treating him like royalty. When Jim carefully limped from the passenger shuttle, a crowd of officers and cadets instantly applauded.

Everyone wanted to talk to him, which normally Jim would have accepted and even appreciated. However, he had Spock’s new _Earth_ address memorized and nothing short of his leg falling off would keep him from visiting.  Jim begged off their questions, and was helped by McCoy who told everyone Captain Kirk was very tired and needed rest. McCoy found him a taxi and packed him inside, throwing Jim’s new metal cane into the seat beside him.

“I don’t care if you look like an old man, you’re using that. You shouldn’t be up and about so fast, so if you feel the _least_ bit tired, you sit your ass down and call me.”

Jim huffed out a laugh. “I’ll be fine, Mom. I’m sure Spock has a comfy couch.”

“Well, at least a couch in any case,” McCoy conceded, shutting the door decisively.

The drive was mercifully short. Spock lived in the student dormitories, the nicer ones on the East side of campus. _Right, daddy’s an ambassador and he was a former VSA Director. I’m actually surprised he’s not living in a penthouse suite in the city._

The car pulled up and Jim rushed inside. Belatedly, he realized he’d left his cane and cursed. McCoy was never going to let _that_ one go. He walked carefully, but it still took him an inordinately long time to reach the bank of elevators and go to the third floor. Of _course_ Spock’s private dormitory was two halls over, and his leg was starting to feel every step.

Finally, Jim reached door 394, hesitating in front of it. Well, breathing heavily in front of it because that was a rough walk and he really should have listened to his doctor. He probably should knock soon, but he wanted to compose himself first.

The choice was taken out of his hands when Spock opened the door.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Jim was staring because he realized that this was the first time he’d seen Spock in six months. He looked good. Jim had kind of expected him to be in a cadet uniform, but it was Saturday, after all. Instead, he wore somewhat traditional Vulcan clothing, black with flowing sleeves and delicate silver threadwork adorning the chest. It discomfitted Jim, because he himself hadn't bother changing into his civvies, so he was standing in the hall in his gray captain's uniform and realizing that he had probably left his hat in the taxi as well.

“Greetings, Captain.”

“Hey, Dir—Spock,” he corrected, feeling severely lame. “I’m sorry I didn’t call first, but, well, I guess I’m the kind of person who needs to see things before they believe it.”

Spock looked amused, which greatly helped Jim to stop gawking at him. “My presence is undeniable. If I may say, you do not look well.”

Jim nodded, which sent a short wave of dizziness, like Spock had the power to make his words true no matter what.

“I’ll be all right. Um, if you want, we can go somewhere to talk—”

As Jim stepped to the side to indicate the direction of his favorite restaurant, his leg buckled painfully. Embarrassingly, he started to tip forward, but Spock held him and righted him, his hand lingering on Jim’s shoulder.

It was…too nice. Spock smelled like fabric softener, which was funny because Jim figured he would smell exotic and spicy, and yet here was rocking the Snuggles. He was also surprisingly warm, given that Jim knew that Vulcans were cold-blooded. He wondered absently if that was his human half’s doing or if there was some sort of enzyme that regulated their body temperature…

Spock removed his arm quickly, like he’d forgotten it was there. “Do you need medical attention?”

He appreciated that—McCoy would have stuck a hypospray in his arm by now.

“I’m all right,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “I forgot my cane in the taxi. I’ll call later to see if I can get it back. Anyway, Starfleet? That’s a hell of a career change.”

“Yes,” Spock said thoughtfully. “My mother is still in a state of shock, though I believe that she is pleased with my decision. I have had my doubts, but now I am much more confident.”

Jim smiled at Spock., not really knowing what to say next but not really caring. If he had to stay grounded for two months or more, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend it than to bother Spock, if Spock wanted him to. Of course they’d have to talk about what had driven Spock to stop talking to Jim, but Jim had already started building a picture of what had happened, and he was here, now, actively going toward a future where they would share the same goals. He didn’t dare to hope now, but maybe Spock was thinking about the _Enterprise_. Maybe one day he’d have the nerve to bring it up, but for now he’d take it easy.

“You gonna let me in?” he asked playfully. Spock stood there for a few moments, like Jim had asked a much deeper question. Then he moved aside, opening the door wider.

“Yes.”


End file.
